


Another Word For Desperate

by hanaki



Category: Helix Waltz (Video Game)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, BDSM, Bondage, Communication, Dom BlackGlove, Dom/sub Play, F/M, Jealousy, Kink Exploration, Kink Negotiation, Misunderstandings, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Painplay, Rough Sex, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safewords, Sexual Frustration, Slow Build, Sub Magda, Teasing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-13 19:42:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 28,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17494085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanaki/pseuds/hanaki
Summary: In which Black Glove runs a BDSM club rather than a casino, and only Finsel's most elite are welcome.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> aka the BDSM AU no one asked for!
> 
> Just a couple quick things: This is a canon divergence. Black Glove is not evil in this fic. Also, this fic is more of an exploration into the BDSM scene than anything else - meaning, it's plot driven rather than smut driven. 
> 
> The smutty bits won't happen until after Magda learns more about the scene and gets comfortable with it, and it's going to take her quite a while to get comfortable. It'll be roughly Chapter 10ish when they start negotiating/playing.

It didn’t take long for Magda to realize there were several clicks within Finsel’s social circle. Some had to do with political affiliations, others more to do with fashion preference. Some were strictly business related while others were purely social. Some were full-fledged clubs, while others were less formal in nature. Magda had even managed to join a couple, inadvertently in most cases—the youth’s social club, the assembly…It had been very straightforward at the time.

There was one particular group that was still a bit of mystery to her even after months of prying and trying to figure it out.

It was a strange mix of individuals, only from the finest families. They rarely seemed to interact at the balls, but somehow always acknowledged each other with at least a nod—even when they were from feuding families. The only common thread seemed to be that several of the men and ladies in this particular group wore the same necklace each day. Not the same as one another, rather they each had their own unique piece that they very rarely changed.

In a land where flaunting the newest, brightest jewels was common, it struck Magda as odd behavior for any in the nobility to choose to wear the same piece over and over again.

“I asked Ivan where he got his necklace,” she confided in her patron and friend, shaking her head, “and all he would say was that it was a gift. I asked him who gave it, and he said he forgot.”

“Do you really wish to know, Eyas?” Juven asked, clearly tired of her conspiracy theories on the subject. “There’s no going back once you’ve crossed this line.”

“You’ve known all along?”

“Of course. The Sakans are one of Finsel’s oldest families. My father was a member, and I’ve dabbled a bit myself,” he explained with a shrug. “Before I say another word, I need to lay out some rules.”

Magda raised a brow. “Such as?”

“Such as secrecy. You must agree never to speak a word of this to anyone, are we clear?”

“Of course.”

“Good. Do yourself a favor and stop making inquiries about the necklaces, too. Privacy is valued by this group above all else—one stray word and you may end up homeless. There are some very powerful players involved.”

“Seriously?” Magda frowned, wondering exactly what it was she was getting involved in. There was no turning back now. “More powerful than you?”

“The Grand Duke himself is a frequent member.”

“What’s your involvement in all this?”

Juven shrugged. “I mostly go for the social benefits. It may be difficult to believe, but this particular club is often the best place to make powerful friends.”

“What _is_ the club?”

“I don’t even know if you’ll believe me without seeing it,” he realized, looking her up and down slowly. “I bet I could get you in.”

The questions were repeating themselves in her head, but she couldn’t help asking again, “What is it I could get into?”

“Meet me at the Tavern tonight.”

“Juven!”

He was already on his feet, waving over his shoulder. “Wear something pink, Eyas. Seven o’clock—don’t be late.”

And just like that, he left her at her table, sipping at her tea as she thought over what he’d said. It seemed like this group went to an awful lot of trouble to keep themselves hidden from the masses. At least two of the Four Families were involved in some capacity, and even Juven spoke words of caution about its members.

What exactly had she just signed up for?

\--

Magda fidgeted with the pink gloves she wore, wondering if the pop of color would be enough to appease Juven. No doubt he’d intended for her to choose a dress, but the ones she owned weren’t great for a trip to the tavern. Instead she wore a simple black piece, using pink for her accessories. She’d deliberately opted out of wearing a necklace, trusting her gut on the fact that she shouldn’t wear one.

It wasn’t like she was a member already, and clearly there was more to it than she understood.

Her heart was thumping in her chest as she slid onto a bar stool, smiling kindly at the bartender who was already sliding her the usual—a beer. Not very ladylike, but it was a guilty habit of hers each time she visited this place. The locals were always more inclined to talk to her when she cut back on the noble act, anyway.

“Ah, I should have warned you,” Juven said, walking up behind her with a grin. “There’s a rule about drinking. It’s not allowed.”

“Excuse me?” Magda raised a brow, looking around. “It’s a Tavern.”

“Astute as usual, my beautiful Eyas.”

“Why do I feel like you’re playing a joke on me?”

“I would never! You wanted to learn more about the club, and so here we are. The meetings take place downstairs.”

“Downstairs?”

“Have I ever led you astray?” Juven asked, hands on his hips as she continue to eye him with skepticism. Actually, now that he mentioned it…He really _had_ never led her astray. “Exactly. Now, unfortunately entry isn’t up to me. I need you to impress the owner.”

“The owner of the Tavern?”

“The owner of the club. I suppose it’s the same man, technically.”

“Does this club even have a name?”

Juven snorted. “An interesting question. I’ve always just called it ‘the club’, myself. It’s more of a location than an actual, social group. We don’t necessarily attend in order to spend time together collectively.”

“But didn’t you say you attend for its social benefits?”

“Think of the social aspects as a pleasing side benefit.”

Magda frowned as he talked himself in circles, explaining without ever _really_ explaining what in the hells was happening here. She traded her beer in for a water and waited for Juven to go get this mysterious ‘owner’ who apparently was nowhere to be seen in the Tavern.

Maybe her friend _was_ just playing a joke on her. Maybe there was no club at all, and she’d imagined the entire thing. Plenty of nobles nodded to one another without it meaning anything more than ‘hello’.

“Looking for me, kitten?”

Magda blinked in surprise, recognizing the man who slid onto the barstool next to hers almost right away. Black Glove. They’d only been introduced once, and it had mostly been in passing during one of her last visits to the Tavern. It wasn’t like he was the type of man she could forget, though.

He was tall and imposing, carrying himself with both confidence and grace. The aura that surrounded him was more potent than any noble man’s she had ever encountered, leaving her heart beating anxiously in her chest. It didn’t help that he was startlingly attractive on top of it all, his handsome face and strange name making him an impossible figure to forget.

“Mr. Black Glove,” she greeted, reminding herself to smile despite her nerves.

“Would you like to share a drink with me?” he offered, gesturing for the bartender to bring two over. “We recently introduced a new beverage from the Lionheart Kingdom. It’s said that it was made from grapes, lemon juice, melon liqueur, and—”

“Actually, I’m not here to have a drink,” she attempted to turn it down kindly, only for the delicious smelling beverage to be placed in front of her anyway.

“Then perhaps you’ve come to play?”

“Play?” Magda blinked, confused.

“Look at her expression,” another woman chimed in, huffing at her from a few feet away. “Do you really think she’s gonna play? Forget about it.”

“I’m sorry, I—”

“Hush,” Black Glove told her, winking before she could think twice about it. “Do you know the history of this wine?”

She watched with intrigue as he swirled his cup, slender fingers holding onto the glass as the clear wine swirled gently around.

“It’s said that the sommelier makes it better when he prepares it attentively…” The man continued to regale her with his story even as she didn’t take a single sip, listening carefully to each word. “What do you think makes the sweetest wine?”

“I suppose it’s sincerity,” she offered, smiling back when his grew.

“Exactly! It’s said the sommelier gets a kiss from his beloved each day before he works. This wine has a folk name, you see—young girl’s kiss,” he revealed, raising his glass to her.

“Sounds romantic.”

He nodded once, eyeing her expectantly. “Cheers, Lady Ellenstein.”

She glanced around once, not catching sight of her friend. Surely there was no harm in taking a single sip, she figured, raising her glass to meet Mr. Black Glove’s before bringing it to her lips. It tasted just as good she expected after his story, sweet and warm.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some business to attend to downstairs,” he told her, almost apologetic as he set his drink down. It was only then that she realized he hadn’t raised it to his own lips even once. “I won’t be able to allow you to attend this evening as there’s a strict policy against drinking. Do enjoy your glass though—it’s on the house.”

“Wait,” she said, raising a brow and taking a closer look at him. Who exactly was this man? Sure, she knew his name, but she knew more about wine now than she did about _him._ “Are you the owner?”

“Yes. Better luck getting in next time, kitten,” he told her, the sound of that other woman’s laughter loud in the air as Magda watched the pair walk away.

Her face was red with embarrassment as the laughter rang in her ears, but there wasn’t anything she could do about it now. It was her own fault for ignoring Juven’s warning, she supposed. Where did he even slither off to this time?

She sipped at her drink bitterly, not having much of a choice as she waited for her friend to pop back up. It really wasn’t fair how good it tasted. Being irritated with Black Glove would have been a much simpler matter if it had an aftertaste, but even when she was done, all she could think was how pleasant it had tasted.

Next time. She would pass Black Glove’s little test next time and figure out exactly what was happening downstairs.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figure since this fic is totally self indulgent, I'm just going to post super often until I get it out of my system. Brace yourself for many stereotypes and assumptions about the scene as Magda gets all that nonsense out of her head over the next couple chapters.

It took a couple weeks to convince Juven to take her back to the Tavern after her little slip up with Black Glove, apparently because the man wasn’t quick to forgive any indiscretions in his place of business. Even the slightest violation of his precious rules could get a person blacklisted for life, and she hadn’t officially stepped foot into the ‘club’.

Somehow the mystery behind it all only left her more curious.

“Surely enough time has passed,” Magda argued, raising imploring brows at Juven. “Bring me with you!”

“If you can’t oblige one simple request before you’ve entered, why should he trust you to follow the rules within?” Juven shrugged like it was so simple. Maybe it was. His logic left her thoroughly deflated, wondering what she could do to offer a sufficient apology to such a picky man. “I hate seeing you sulk, my beautiful Eyas. Allow me to speak to him on your behalf. I’ll see if I can take the blame for failing to explain the situation to you.”

She lit up almost immediately. “You’d do that for me?”

“Of course. I’m not sure you’ll thank me once you’ve seen what goes on down there, but I know you won’t be sated until you’ve seen it yourself.”

And that was how they ended up back at the Tavern together, this time staying close to each other as they roamed the upstairs area in search of its mysterious owner. It didn’t take long to find him this time, the man engaged in a game of cards with a few patrons on the upstairs level of the Tavern. They all had pints of beer, which only had her raising her brow.

Surely he didn’t break his own rules. He looked to be a man of discipline, as structured as he was handsome.

“Wait here,” Juven whispered in her ear, and she took a seat without question.

Her friend approached the owner with his head held high, and soon the eyes of Black Glove’s entire entourage were on her as Juven gestured in her direction. Her face was bright red under the attention, but it was only when Black Glove’s eyes were on her that she looked down at her feet.

Goddess, why did this man make her so nervous?

Maybe it was because she had already found out what happened when she let her guard down around him. He liked his games, clearly. Instead of just turning her away, he’d somehow made it a result of her own indiscretion. What game would he try to play with her this time?

“He wishes to speak with you, eyas.”

Magda blinked, not even realizing Juven was back by her side. “Right now?”

“Yes,” he nodded, giving her a nudge in the right direction. “Don’t be afraid. He’s not so bad, truly.”

Somehow that wasn’t reassuring, but she didn’t come all this way just to back down now. She walked over to the table, taking the empty seat by Black Glove’s side as he continued his card game as if there had been no interruption.

She sat there quietly, wondering if she was supposed to be talking. Surely he would have prompted her if he wanted her to begin, and he hadn’t so much as looked at her since she sat down. It was only when he set down his final card and chuckled that she dared look over at him, watching curiously as he collected the chips on the table.

“Perhaps you’ll have better luck next time,” Black Glove told his opponents, all of whom looked disappointed. No one spoke an ill word though, instead muttering their challenges for ‘next time’ and grumbling every step of the way as they left the table and headed toward the bar. “Such a well-behaved pet, waiting quietly for me to finish.”

The words sent a shiver down Magda’s spine, eyes wide as she looked over at the man. “Excuse me?”

“You wished to speak with me again?” he prompted, lifting his beer and taking an elegant swig. “Go ahead.”

“I’m sorry for last time. Viscount Sakan warned me not to drink, yet I…”

“You attempted to deny me. It was my persistence that caused you to falter, and you’ll need a stronger will than that if you intend to enjoy all that this Tavern has to offer.”

“What does that mean?”

“Drinking impairs a person’s judgment,” he told her, setting his pint down and folding his hands on the table. Suddenly his full, undivided attention was on her, and it was heavier than she expected. “I can’t allow anyone downstairs if they’re not in full control of themselves. I’m afraid the same goes for me when I’m making business decisions.”

She glanced from the beer back to the man, realization setting in. “You won’t be deciding about me today, then?”

“Very astute. No one goes downstairs without my approval, and it won’t be granted this evening.”

“Why’d you agree to talk to me then?”

“You looked so hopeful, standing there while your friend made his plea,” he shrugged, gesturing to the bartender. “I’d hate to think you came all this way for nothing. Share a drink with me, Lady Ellenstein.”

“Very well.” She frowned as a glass of wine was set down in front of her, glancing over at Black Glove tentatively. “Would it be surprising to say I prefer a beer?”

“Not at all. You’re from the slums, are you not?”

“How do you—”

“I know many things,” he told her simply. “I also know your face lit up brighter than the stars when you tried the young girl’s kiss last time. I wouldn’t mind seeing such an expression again.”

Magda’s face was flushed as she lifted her glass, finding that she wouldn’t mind having more either if it were the same wine as last time. He lifted his pint to her glass, this time taking a real sip as she took her own. It was good— _very_ good. Somehow it wasn’t quite how she remembered, though.

“Disappointed?” Black Glove asked, quirking a brow.

“It’s delicious. It’s just not quite how I recalled.”

“Ah. I find it’s the anticipation that often makes the best things in life even sweeter.”

She took another sip as she thought about that, not quite sure she understood. Sure, he’d told her a lengthy story last time before allowing her to take a sip, but the wine was what it was. It wasn’t as if its components had changed in the time he spent talking to her.

“Perhaps you’ll understand some day,” he mused, smirking as he studied her carefully. “So tell me, kitten. Why is it you wish to go downstairs so badly?”

“I thought you weren’t making a decision today?”

“I’m not. That doesn’t mean we can’t discuss the matter in more detail. Are you even aware of what it is that happens down there?”

“No,” Magda admitted slowly, surprised by his lack of reaction. This man certainly had a poker face. “I just know it’s something, and Juven told me he would try to get me in.”

“You realize that’s more of a reason for me to prohibit you than it is a reason for me to accept you, yes?”

“You’ve never had someone wish to join for the sake of curiosity?”

“Curiosity is a dangerous thing if you lack proper understanding of the situation.”

“Tell me more, then. Give me knowledge of the situation, and I’ll make an appropriate decision based on that knowledge.”

“A reasonable proposal.” He hummed thoughtfully, eyes sweeping her up and down in a less than subtle manner. “You’d certainly please my patrons. You’ve a very alluring young woman.”

“Don’t be rude!”

“This isn’t a Senate Ball. Social etiquette is whatever I define it to be in my establishment.”

“That doesn’t give you the right to make any untoward comments about me.”

“Perhaps not. I was merely making an observation as a business man,” he explained, his voice so calculating that she found herself believing it. “My members pay an extensive fee for use of this premises. I only allow the finest Finsel has to offer to join them.”

Her mind was reeling, only a few possible conclusions coming to mind. “Is this some kind of upscale whorehouse?”

“Now you’re the one being rude, kitten,” he winked, the wicked grin on his face somehow endearing. “No one pays for those types of services here. What do you know of dominance and submission?”

Her mouth went dry at his words, his patient stare far too serious for this to be another joke. Her heart pounded away in her chest as she realized he was really waiting for her to answer, and something in her gut told her he would know if she lied.

“Not much, I’m afraid. I’ve seen certain dressings—fashion designed with such things in mind,” she explained, her mind going back to a few pieces Miss Rebecca had shown her once. They’d each brought a blush to her face—tightly tied lace pieces, and some accessories that looked more like whips and crops than fashion statements. “I was told it was inspired by a Raycoran trend. Forgive me, I forget the acronym Miss Rebecca used.”

“BDSM.”

“It sounds familiar,” Magda agreed, mulling it over. Whatever it stood for, she wasn't sure. All she could do was conjure up images of those whips and crops again, shuddering uncomfortably as she imagined what they may be used for. “I’m not sure exactly what it stands for.”

“Bondage, discipline, dominance, submission, sadism, and masochism.”

Her eyes went wide as the realization set in. “You have a club where nobles indulge in this behavior?”

“Essentially, yes, though it’s not strictly nobles. Some of Finsel’s finest come right from the slums,” he explained, giving her a pointed look. “There are strict rules, of course. We operate with privacy in mind. No one will speak a word of your involvement outside of the premises, and the same is expected of you in return.”

“I understand." It was mostly true, but she couldn't help thinking there was  _a lot_ that she really didn't understand. "Are there more rules?"

“There’s no drinking, obviously. No documenting. No interrupting anyone’s play. No touching anyone without their express consent. There’s no pressuring anyone to join you, and there’s no shaming or insulting anyone’s preferences.”

It was strange how reasonable each rule sounded, like they were written with respect in mind. Under the circumstances, that just didn't seem right. There was something untoward about all this, and Magda couldn't shake it from her mind no matter how delicately he wanted to frame the situation.

“I’m not sure this type of behavior is for me, Mr. Black Glove.”

“I have yet to give you my permission to join, if you recall correctly," he reminded her, chuckling softly at her deflated expression. "I don't recruit—I simply filter through those who come here hoping to join. If you have no interest, I have no interest in persuading you. You’re free to leave at any time.”

Magda found herself stuck to her seat despite his words, lifting her drink and indulging in a few more sips. Just because she wouldn’t be going downstairs didn’t mean she had to leave the Tavern itself. For his part, Black Glove didn't seem to care either way, sipping at his own drink like he had all the time in the world for her to decide what she wanted to do.

“Perhaps I could join you for a game of cards instead?”

Black Glove raised an amused brow, that signature smirk back on his face. “Again, I must ask…do you know what it is you’re asking for?"

“I think I’ll surprise you, Mr. Black Glove.”

“Somehow I don’t doubt that for a moment, kitten. Let’s play, then.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to admit, as self-indulgent as this all is, I do hope people are reading and enjoying the concept at least. All of the kudos are appreciated!
> 
> This chapter has a bit more of Magda making stereotypes/assumptions - it's going to take a while to get that all out of her system.

Dominance and submission.

Somehow Magda was stuck on those two words, unable to shake them from her mind since the day Black Glove had spoken them to her so eloquently. Everything about that man was a contradiction, she thought, perplexed by his demeanor as he spoke of such things.

How could he look so dignified when he was revealing something so inappropriate to her?

“He must have a good feeling about you,” Juven mused, shrugging off her confusion in favor of more interesting topics. “You should be flattered.”

“What do you mean?”

“He wouldn’t have said a word about his precious club if he didn’t trust you to keep your mouth shut. Most of us have to pay to discover the hidden things his Tavern has to offer.”

“It’s not as if I could say anything even if I wanted to, remember? I wouldn’t risk having the Bavlenka’s coming down on me for outing their involvement.”

“Black Glove is the one who holds all the cards,” Juven reminded her pointedly. “When it comes to this matter, he’s the one you should be most concerned with. In a lot of ways, he’s the most powerful man in the city.”

“That can’t be right. He’s not even a noble.”

“And yet he holds the nobility’s darkest secrets. I told you there is a social aspect, remember?” he asked, waiting patiently for her to nod. “Think of the club as a different type of ball. There’s different etiquette—different rules, if you will. Instead of going to suck up to one another, we go to unwind. It’s far more relaxed in that way.”

“What’s your point?”

“My point is, a relaxed noble is far more likely to be forthcoming in conversation. I can bring up topics there that I wouldn’t dare mention anywhere else, and Black Glove is privy to it all. If he’s not there himself, he’s got staff in place at all hours.”

“But…the rules,” Magda frowned, tilting her head. “He said there’s no documenting anything. That it’s all private.”

“It is. That doesn’t mean we’re blissfully unaware that he knows a lot more than a commoner ought to know. He’s proven himself trustworthy, and so we lower our guard—that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t turn on us in a heartbeat if we threatened him or broke any of his precious rules.”

So that was how he kept them all in line, then. A dangerous game, she thought, but it seemed like Black Glove excelled in all sorts of games.

“Don’t misunderstand—he wouldn’t use his knowledge against anyone undeserving. It wouldn’t be worthwhile to him because we’d all stop doing business there.”

“He mentioned you all pay a fee?”

“A membership fee, yes,” Juven explained easily. “He’s a rich man, certainly. It’s no small sum, and there are quite a few of us.”

“He’s a smart businessman, then.”

“Among other things. You should be careful around him.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I know you’ve been making trips back to the Tavern to see him,” he told her, shaking his head slowly when she failed to deny it. “I don’t know what it is he’s luring you with, but it’s not worth it if you’ve no intention of joining.”

“I go to play cards,” Magda insisted, arms folded across her chest.

Initially she’d gone back to redeem herself after a series of unfortunate losses that first night, unable to stay away after he’d made a sly remark. It was one of her fatal flaws—she was a competitive woman. He told her the invitation was open and that she could come for a rematch whenever it suited her.

She didn’t realize Juven was privy to the fact she’d taken him up on that offer once or twice now.

“I’ll be careful,” Magda told him, knowing this conversation wouldn’t end until she made that promise. Before he could look too relieved, she continued, “I just want to beat him one time.”

“The man has never lost! It’s quite likely he cheats."

“Why would he need to cheat? You just said he’s the most powerful man in the city.”

“It’s part of his persona. It makes him seem even more invincible.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” she insisted. “You’re welcome to join me if you’re that concerned.”

“Perhaps I should. It’d be the best way to make sure you’re not in over your head.”

“He’s not a bad man.” He just owned a strange club, she figured. His companionship was quite pleasant most nights. “He’s been nothing but kind to me.”

“If you're not bound by his rules, you're not protected by them either. He has no obligation to keep any of your secrets if you’re not a member, Magda.”

She frowned, surprised by the sudden use of her real name. Juven only ever called her Magda when he was saying something serious, and it looked like this was one of those times.

“I really don’t think he means me any harm, and it’s not like I’m revealing much about myself.”

“Don’t be fooled by his honeyed words and free drinks. A noble woman dabbling in card games at the Tavern is damaging enough if word got out.”

A fair point, she realized with a frown. Reputation meant everything in Finsel, and she’d worked very hard to establish a good one. Who was Black Glove going to tell though? The nobles he knew were likely the ones who frequented his club, which meant she would know something about _them_ if they dared to spread any rumors.

“Why do you think he humors me?” Magda asked curiously. “Surely he’d send me away if he thought I was a nuisance. It’d be easier for both of us.”

Juven’s eyes swept her up and down, meeting her gaze pointedly. “I bet he’d draw in a dozen new members just hoping for the chance to partner with you. You're beautiful, Eyas.”

“I’d never partner with any of the nobles in this circle like that,” she insisted, adamant as her face grew flushed under his stare. “I made that much clear to him, and he’s not once brought it up since. He told me he doesn’t recruit.”

“Not outwardly. Instead he just makes you feel at home, like it’s all perfectly normal and he’s completely harmless.”

“You’re paranoid.”

“It’d be safer for you to simply make a decision—to join or to stay far, far away from him. Joining might be the best option, since you’re going to go down there regardless of what I tell you.”

“I have no interest in joining a club filled with impropriety and—”

“It’s not as improper as you may assume.”

“There are _whips,_ Juven.”

“An instrument of pleasure when handled properly.”

“I thought you didn’t go to play?”

“I don’t. I’ve little interest in playing with anyone when the woman in my heart continues to evade me,” he reminded her, a pang of guilt hitting her as she saw his somber expression. She should have realized that was why—everything always came back to Asteria when it came to Juven. “That doesn’t mean I lack an understanding of the fundamentals. I appreciate a good scene when I see one.”

“A…scene?”

“You really ought to see for yourself before making any judgments. Not even the most eloquent explanation would be adequate to describe the beauty you can find down there.”

Her skepticism was coming back in full force, but that didn’t stop her heart from twisting anxiously in her chest. The curiosity within her still hadn’t been fully sated it seemed, but she couldn’t bring herself to vocalize it. What did Juven mean? All she could imagine was the tools and clothing she’d seen, paired with the word _sadism._ It didn’t create a pretty picture.

Juven sighed softly, snapping her from her daze. “It’s all safe, Magda. And consensual. Whatever you’re thinking isn’t what you’ll find down there.”

“I already told him I wasn’t interested. It’s not like I changed my mind, either. I don’t want to do those things.”

“Tell him you’re not interested in being a participant,” Juven suggested, his keen eye picking up on her worries with ease yet again. “It’s not unheard of for members to simply watch.”

“Like you?”

“Kind of. I _do_ participate from time to time.”

“Are you…?” It was hard for her to imagine her friend as a dominant, but something about him submitting didn’t sound right either. She wasn't even sure she understood what it meant to be either, which made it all the more difficult to place him. “Which role do you play?”

“It depends on the day,” he winked at her, laughing softly as her jaw dropped. “There’s no shame in being submissive, Eyas. Nor is there any shame in being dominant. For me, it depends on my mood those rare days when I get the itch to play.”

The itch. It was an interesting way to describe it, not dissimilar to how she felt right now. It wasn’t a desire to play, of course—she was willing to admit that maybe she didn’t even know what that meant yet. But she did crave more information on the subject. More information on the man who brought this all to life in her city.

“Does Black Glove participate?”

“He’s more of a silent owner—a frequent visitor, but not a participant. There are whispers about him taking on a submissive from time to time, but it’s always shrouded in secrecy. No one ever knows who they are.”

So he was a dominant, then. It made sense given his commanding presence, but somehow hearing it made this whole situation very real to Magda. This same man who showered her in free drinks and humored her with endless card games…That man was a dominant.

Did he like to hurt women? Men? Did that make him a sadist, or something worse?

She shivered as she tried to guess, hoping that she wouldn’t find out any time soon. It was better to think of him as the charismatic bar owner who kept her glass full with a smile on his face. Her visits to the bar made a lot more sense when framed in that light.


	4. Chapter 4

If there was one thing Magda didn’t like about the Tavern, it was the feeling that she was being watched every time she entered. Not by Black Glove or his usual crowd from their card games—no, it was always the women and men who watched from afar that made her the most uncomfortable.

At first she had assumed they were watching _him,_ the idea making far more sense to her. He was a powerful man, and powerful men tended to draw an audience wherever they went. His domineering aura didn’t help, nor did his charismatic persona.

It was only those days when she stepped inside and he was nowhere to be found that she realized there was more going on here. They were watching her, and she had yet to figure out why. She never dressed particularly well when she made these trips, feeling most at ease when she was ‘undercover’. Most of these people probably had no idea who she was, or what family she came from—let alone that she was nobility.

“Don’t mind them,” Black Glove had told her once, waving off her question like she was being paranoid.

And just like that, she’d shrugged it off, certain they meant her no true harm anyway. Nobles came and went from the Tavern all the time, dressed far less discreetly than her as they went up and downstairs to the club. It seemed unlikely that it had anything to do with her status at least.

“You again!”

“Hello, Miss,” she greeted politely, like she wasn’t being glared at for simply entering the Tavern. “Is Mr. Black Glove in today?”

The woman just sneered at her. “You’re always asking about him. He’s not here.”

Magda blinked a few times, sure that couldn’t be right. He was the one who told her he’d be playing again this evening, and while she hadn’t explicitly said she’d be coming, she was sure he knew she wouldn’t stay away for very long. Not until she won, which she'd made very clear to him. “Is he…downstairs?”

“You really have no idea, do you?” the barmaid asked, letting out a sigh. “Yes, he’s downstairs. You should leave while you still can.”

Downstairs.

It sent a shiver down her spine, and she couldn’t help wondering what exactly he was doing this time. Juven had called him a silent owner—the type to visit frequently. What did he do during those visits if he wasn’t actively _with_ anyone? What did he do when he  _was_ with someone?

“Kitten!”

A familiar, disappointing voice called out to her from across the room. It wasn’t Black Glove, though she narrowed her eyes at the use of the pet name the Tavern owner gave her. Something about it always sounded so playful coming from his lips, but from his friends in the bar? She hated it. The only good thing about it this time was, it gave her an excuse to walk away from the barmaid after a polite farewell.

“I thought I told you not to call me that, Eric,” she reminded the man, hands on her hips as she walked over to the table where he’d waved at her. “Is something wrong?”

“Black Glove said we should get started without him,” the man answered. “He’ll be up soon. One round, max.”

“Oh,” she muttered, fighting back her disappointment.

There was quite the crowd today, and she knew that meant he would be coming for sure. The Tavern was a pretty popular place, but it was always at its best when Black Glove intended to make an appearance. It seemed like everyone wanted something from him, and it was in moments like this when she realized she must have been just another person in line from his perspective.

“Deal me in, then,” Magda agreed, taking her usual seat—the one left empty next to the chair that would inevitably be Black Glove’s when he arrived. “I think I’ve discovered the winning strategy.”

“You’re gonna cheat like Black Glove?” Eric snorted loudly, earning laughter from around the table.

“As if I’d need to cheat around you lot.”

The hair on the back of her neck was standing up as she felt him approach from behind, not daring to turn around and catch his gaze just yet. Everyone else was making their retorts—unphased that they were teasing the man who held all the real power in this room. It was one of the things she appreciated about him, actually.

Most nobles couldn’t take a joke. They’d have thrown out any guests who dared challenge them in their own home. Mr. Black Glove was different—he joked right along, silencing the crowd with a single glance if the conversation ever went too far.

“You’re back for more, kitten?” he asked, finally taking his seat by her side. "It's barely been three days since your last visit."

The deck was handed to him right away, and he began shuffling as he awaited an answer. It was nearly impossible for her to form the words though, too caught up in her own head. He looked the same as always. Not even a single strand of hair was out of place on his handsome head, yet he’d just come from down there. From that place that always left her with more questions than answers. Surely he should at least look a bit flustered, but no, he was as composed as ever.

“I fear I won’t get a proper night’s rest until I defeat you,” Magda told him, realizing he wouldn't let her get away with ignoring his question.

“It’s not as if this is a casino. There’s no prize for winning.”

“There is though,” she insisted, reaching for the cards expectantly. He raised both brows but made no move to stop her from taking them, instead watching as she began her turn shuffling. “The chips we play with may be worthless, but they hold meaning for you. That adds value, Mr. Black Glove.”

“You come into my establishment, accept my free drinks, steal the cards right out of my hands,” he rattled off gesturing with two fingers for her to hand them back, “and you have the nerve to expect more from me?”

“I do,” Magda admitted, not cowering under his powerful gaze for even a second.

He continued to stare her down even after she had handed him the deck back, the other men at the table shuffling awkwardly at the exchange until Black Glove barked out a laugh.

“Perhaps you’re a masochist after all.”

_That_ caused her to shrink back a little, losing just a bit of her confidence as everyone else snickered like they were in on the joke. It occurred to her at times that she may very well have been a joke to most of them, but a little embarrassment had never stopped her from pressing forward before.

“You say it as if we don’t all know you’re a sadist.”

“I’m a man of simple pleasures,” Black Glove shrugged, raising a brow like he was daring her to continue this line of conversation.

She didn’t, of course. Couldn’t. Her face was already bright red under his gaze, heart hammering in her chest as she tried to sort out what she was feeling. Luckily he took pity on her, dealing out the cards with precision and wasting absolutely no time cleaning house.

Not even the most experienced commoner at the table stood a chance, hanging his head in defeat with the rest of them. It truly as unfair how quickly this man operated, showing no mercy to any of them.

“What were you saying about the winning strategy, kitten?” he asked as he collected his chips, winking when she huffed.

“I’ll take that free drink now.”

“Of course,” he agreed, and all it took was a single gesture before a glass of wine was handed to her promptly. “I’m afraid I won’t be joining you in drink this evening. I have more business to attend to downstairs.”

_Downstairs._

He just joined them after spending time downstairs. What else did he have left to do? He usually only made one trip down there on the nights when she visited, to check in or do whatever it was he did down there. Then he’d come back like nothing happened at all, winking at her if she stared at him for a beat too long after the fact.

Goddess, she wanted to know what he was doing on those nights especially, but it felt so wrong to ask.

“One more game?” she tried, not quite ready to bid farewell yet.

“I’m sorry, kitten. I’ve made arrangements that can’t be delayed any further,” he told her, handing her the deck with a small frown. “You’re welcome to stay here with the others.”

The others had already begun to disperse, clearly having shown up to play with Black Glove himself. That was just the kind of man he was, drawing the attention in every room he entered. He didn’t even seem to notice they were leaving the table, his full attention on Magda as she ground out the question she could no longer hold back.

“Are you going to play?”

His stare seemed to sharpen at her probing question, and for a moment she wondered if she’d finally crossed a line—if she’d been wrong to assume he’d answer her if she just dared to ask. It really was none of her business. Her gaze dropped to the table before she could stop it, mentally kicking herself for being so foolish.

There was no taking it back, unfortunately. A gentle, gloved hand was on her chin before she could sink any further into herself, tilting her head back up until she met his gaze once more.

“I’d prefer you look at me if you expect an answer to a question like that,” he told her, his voice almost a warning. Her mouth hung open slightly as his hand dropped to his side, a silent apology on her tongue. Something in his eyes told her it was unnecessary, and so she just waited anxiously for his answer instead. “I make it a point not to mix work and play.”

Magda exhaled a breath she hadn’t even known she was holding at that, not quite realizing what she had done by asking that simple, nagging question. The topic she had once considered taboo in their unlikely friendship was now on the table, staring her in the face and demanding to be discussed further.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I'm going overboard with these frequent updates, but I'm trying to make the most of my days off! Hopefully it's coming along okay.

One question a night. That was how it started at least, as that was all she would allow herself once the flood gates had been opened. Magda would make her rounds through the social circle, hitting ball after ball, and eventually it would be time to sneak out and head to the Tavern for another defeat at Black Glove’s hand. She still hadn’t figured out a way to best him at cards.

It was always in those quiet moments after their game that she took a breath and asked whichever question was too persistent in her mind, after the table had cleared and it was just the two of them left together. With each question it became a bit easier to ask, until it was just another part of the routine for them. So far she’d asked an assortment of things, ranging from what he was assisting with on certain nights (supervising, most often), to why he’d established the club in the first place (to make money, of course, and to create an environment where people felt comfortable exploring what he referred to as ‘kinks’).

The only topic that was untouchable was his clientele; he’d never name a single patron, nor would he speak of anyone’s preferences. It seemed he really did take his rules very seriously. Even when she swore she saw familiar faces in or around the Tavern, disappearing in a way that indicated they had gone downstairs, he would never confirm or deny a thing. All she knew for sure was that Juven was a member, and so was the Grand Duke. Wondering who else dabbled in these behaviors was a lost cause and a waste of her question for the night.

Tonight’s question was her broadest yet, but it was one she couldn’t stop wondering about.

“What’s it like, downstairs?” Magda asked, swirling her wine in her glass and forcing herself to hold Black Glove’s gaze.

She’d learned quickly that he meant it when he said he wanted her gaze on his when asking questions like this. If she dared look away, the pause would just linger in the air until the silence grew to be nearly unbearable.

“You’ll have to be more specific, kitten.”

“The room. Does it look like a darker version of the Tavern?”

Black Glove chuckled softly at that, shaking his head. “It’s surprisingly well lit. And, no, it bears no resemblance to this level. It feels larger—the décor is far more comfortable than these wooden chairs and tables. There’s always music playing, and I make it a point to schedule a show every night.”

“A show?” Magda repeated curiously.

“There’s a stage. Volunteers will use it for demonstrations or public scenes,” he explained, as if it were the most casual thing in the world. Her eyes were wide at the thought, thoroughly scandalized by the idea of it. “There are private rooms for those who don’t prefer to be seen. There _is_ a bar as well, but it’s not stocked with alcohol.”

“What’s it stocked with?”

“Perhaps that can be your question for tomorrow,” he winked, and suddenly she wasn’t so sure she wanted to know.

“Who says I’ll be back tomorrow? I never stop by two nights in a row.”

“Yet you always stop by after attending a Bavlenka Family Ball.”

Magda laughed softly, surprised he had noticed that about her. “I do tend to need a glass of wine after dealing with the Grand Duke. He’s so rude!”

“Be careful what you say, kitten. The Grand Duke is one of my best patrons, and I won’t have him insulted in my establishment.”

She rolled her eyes at that, not surprised one bit that he was leaping to the defense of his precious patron. She understood why he would feel the need to do so, but that didn’t make it any easier hearing her friend defend the man who went out of his way to insult her at every opportunity. In fact, it made her all the more skeptical about this whole _club_ situation.

“If he’s the type of client you want, maybe it’s best I don’t join.”

“No one’s asked you to,” he reminded her pointedly, his blunt words hitting her like a blow to the chest. “I’m merely indulging you and your curiosities.”

“You would deny me if I came to you and asked to be let in? Even now?”

“Of course. I’m a businessman at heart. Surely you can understand that."

She frowned. “So turning away potential patrons is good for business?”

“If they may do more harm than good, then yes. You would be a risk I cannot take right now. I’d sooner send you to Miss Hosta to clear up every notion you have in your pretty head about this lifestyle than allow you to step foot into my club.”

“Why do you humor me then, if not to eventually allow me in?”

Black Glove shrugged, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Surely I’m allowed an indulgence of my own from time to time. Not many of my opponents are as persistent as you, which makes my victories against you all the sweeter.”

“I _will_ win,” she vowed, and not for the first time. It was far easier to play off everything he just said and focus on the game than it was to think about anything else right now. He just gave her that signature smirk, like he knew she couldn’t resist even if she wanted to. “Do you have time for one more game tonight?”

“Anything for you, kitten.”

Anything except entry into his little club, apparently, but she forced a smile despite it all.

\--

The thing was, Black Glove probably hadn’t been serious when he mentioned sending her to see Miss Hosta. That didn’t stop Magda from going anyway, heart racing anxiously as she walked the red-light district under the cover of the stars. Her mother would no doubt freak out if she knew exactly what Magda had snuck out of the house to do this evening, but there was no turning back now. Not until her curiosity was finally sated, if it ever could be.

Miss Hosta was a lovely lady—a dancer and a friend. She would keep Magda’s visit a secret from any who asked, and she would find a way to help however she could. There was no doubt in her mind her friend wouldn’t laugh at her questions, nor would she judge. She’d just find a way to answer.

It was her hope that as a woman, Miss Hosta would be able to explain it all in a way that Juven and Black Glove could not. Surely she’d understand Magda’s reservations about it all, even if she thought otherwise about the situation.

“The concept of dominance and submission resonates with you,” Hosta noted, having carefully listened to Magda’s confused rant about how she wasn’t sure what to make of this whole mess—how she couldn’t stop thinking about it ever since she learned nobles practiced BDSM, but she wasn’t sure it would be right for someone like her. “It’s the idea of pain that has you worried.”

“Why would someone _want_ to be hurt?” Better yet, why would someone want to hurt someone else? Neither seemed logical.

“Balancing a person’s pain and pleasure is an art, Magda,” Hosta explained, taking a long drag from her pipe as she considered how best to put it. “You hear the word whip and you cower, when truly, the sting of its touch is like a kiss. A fierce one, shared only by two who truly understand one another.”

“I don’t understand,” she said helplessly. “Why would anyone like that?”

“Shall I show you?”

“Excuse me?”

Miss Hosta smiled at her, almost as indulgent as Black Glove. “I have many tools in my possession. I could demonstrate, if you’d like.”

“Maybe something simple,” she agreed, a bit reluctant.

She was sure her eyes couldn’t get any wider as Miss Hosta stepped away toward the intricate chest she had in her bed room, pulling out a device that looked eerily familiar to her. Some of the ladies carried them to balls these days, though Magda had never understood why until this moment. There were a lot more people in this club than she realized.

“Do you know what this is?” Hosta asked patiently.

“It’s a riding crop.”

“This is traditionally used in horseback riding,” Hosta told her, earning another nod of understanding. “Do you believe it's intended to harm the horse?”

“No, but…” That didn’t mean it was meant to feel _good,_ either. It stung enough to get the horse to go faster. “That’s not the same.”

“May I?”

Magda arched a brow, not quite sure what she was being asked for until Hosta reached out for her hand. She flipped it so the palm was up, meeting Magda’s gaze in silent question. Her throat was dry—far too dry for her to speak her consent, and so instead she gave a nod as she realized what Hosta wanted to do.

She brought it down in a quick stroke, causing Magda to gasp audibly as the tip grazed her hand.

“How did that feel?” Hosta asked.

“It didn’t feel nice,” Magda responded with a frown. It didn’t hurt either, she noted, but she supposed that could change if it had been brought down with more force. “Is it supposed to be pleasurable?”

“Under the right circumstances, yes. Traditionally speaking, one would never strike at a hand—I just wanted you to see clearly what I was doing,” Hosta told her carefully. “There are certain zones of the body that endure better during play. It’s really all about sensations.”

“What do you mean?”

“Imagine yourself bound to my bed, at my complete mercy. Think of all I could do to you by simply running the tip of this crop over your body—exposed or otherwise.”

She shuddered at the thought, eyes falling on Hosta's bed. It was huge, covered in expensive blankets and pillows. Would it be so comfortable if she were bound to it? Magda considered it in her mind, trying to imagine the leather tip of the crop dancing on her skin all the while. Surprisingly, the thought wasn't as scary as she would have guessed a few weeks back. “Would it tickle?"

“It might,” Hosta answered, the smile on her lips teasing this time. Clearly she knew something Magda did not. “If I brought it down periodically, it may earn another pretty gasp from you. Not because it hurt, but because it surprised you. Perhaps I’d use my hands instead, if the mood was right. I might even blindfold you and use a different device entirely.”

“I see…”

She did, mostly, imagining it might even feel nice depending on the pressure applied. Like a massage of sorts.

“Much of this has to do with who your partner is. What you like, and what they like—how it mingles in the night,” Hosta continued. “It’s as beautiful as you make it.”

Beautiful. There was that word again, being used in the strangest way. It didn’t make sense when Juven said it, and it didn’t make sense now either. “It doesn’t sound as bad when you say it like that, but... I just worry. I don’t like being hurt.”

“Just as not all types of pain are unpleasant, not all play requires pain. That would be for you and your partner to discuss, should you choose to delve down this path. You may even choose to be the one holding the crop.”

That had her eyes wide, never having even considered that. “Do women often do that?”

Hosta shrugged. “Of course.” She offered the crop to Magda, giving her an encouraging nod. “What do you feel?”

She curled her fingers around the hand, testing the weight of it with a few harmless strikes to the air. It wasn’t unlike any other riding crop she’d ever held, yet this one had her tense. The idea of a man or woman lying down before her while she held this over them…It was a bit unsettling. She liked to consider herself a strong woman, but not in this manner.

“I can’t imagine myself in that position.”

“There’s no shame in that. It’s the submissive who holds the real power in these relationships anyway, and you, darling, are one of the most powerful young women I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.”

Magda couldn’t help but smile, rolling her eyes fondly. “You need not flatter me, Miss Hosta.”

“I’ve flattered many over the years, but my words to you are pure, Magda. You’re a dear friend.”

“Are you a member of Mr. Black Glove’s club?”

“Not officially. Sometimes he’ll request my assistance with a demonstration. I’m well trained in the art of bondage,” she explained shamelessly, winking when Magda’s face grew red. “He’s an excellent trainer should you require one. I’d trust few others to treat you as well as he would.”

“He told me I’m not allowed to join.”

“Because you ask too many questions. Most who seek entry already have some idea of what goes on within.”

“How though?” Magda persisted, confused again every time she thought she had a grasp on the situation. “How do they know of such things?”

“Not everyone is so innocent. Words of these behaviors have made there way through the circle many times before, spreading as quickly as any gossip or rumor. Those who dabble or express interest are referred to Mr. Black Glove,” she revealed, like she thought it was obvious. “They don’t know the full details until they join, but they know enough not to be surprised upon entry.”

“So he’s never had someone like me?”

“He’s had many like you. Countless others have approached simply believing it was a social group of sorts,” Hosta told her. “He’s turned them all away promptly.”

Yet he allowed Magda to return, time and time again. Not to enter, but to play games and stay by his side. What did he stand to gain from all this, if not her future membership?

“You’re a charming young woman, and Black Glove is a simple man. It’s not so difficult to believe he would be drawn to you the way many other are.”

Magda shook her head, waving a dismissive hand even as part of her wished it were true. “He’d never be interested in a woman who didn’t share his…inclinations. I’m more of an amusement to him than anything else.”

“His day to day is very structured. Perhaps your companionship is a pleasant break from that reality.”

“How do I convince him to take me seriously? To consider me as a member?”

Miss Hosta took another long drag from her pipe, looking unfairly sultry as she thought it over. “You’ll need to begin by convincing _me_ you wish to join. From everything you’ve said, I can see why he would decline. You have far too many reservations as it stands.”

“You’ll put in a good word for me if I can convince you?”

“Of course. Come visit me each week—I’ll show you something new. If we can find something that truly strikes your interest, then I’ll discuss it with him.”

Magda was beaming by the end of that promise, jumping to her feet and hugging her friend before she could stop herself. “You won’t regret this, Miss Hosta.”

It wasn’t until she was pulling back that her friend fixed her with a long look, bringing the pipe back to her lips. "Why is this so important to you, Magda?”

“It’s difficult to explain. I just feel so…when we talk about these things, I feel nervous, but I also feel this stirring in my stomach, like I need to know more. It’s more than a simple curiosity.”

It was an itch, as Juven had once described it. Every day it seemed to grow more persistent as Black Glove answered her questions about his club, and as Hosta stood there in front of her offering to show her more firsthand. Truthfully, some of the words her friends spoke on this subject _did_ things to her, stirring feelings inside she’d never experienced before.

Surely it wasn’t such a bad thing if so many nobles participated. It couldn’t be as scandalous as she once believed—not if even her friends could speak of it so calmly and honestly.

“It’s a normal feeling,” Hosta assured her with a smile void of any judgment. “Let’s have some tea. We can discuss this more next time.”

Her patience was wavering, but she knew her friend wouldn’t lead her astray. Too much at once would only serve to overwhelm her, and tea actually sounded like a good idea for her nerves right about now. Bit by bit, she’d learn more until the things she asked about no longer brought a blush to her face.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I didn't tag it because it's not explicit or defined, but FYI there is some light F/F play in this chapter. We'll get to Magda/Black Glove in the next couple chapters ;-) I'm losing patience in my own fic, sooo yes, I promise we're getting there soon. I didn't realize there'd be so much foundation to lay out for this one!

To her surprise, Hosta had decided it was best to keep her visits a secret from Black Glove, at least for now. Apparently it was easier for everyone that way, as their mutual friend tended to be more protective of ‘his kitten’ than Magda had realized.

“People notice when a man in his position is frequently seen with the same woman,” Hosta had explained, and that meant his friends and rivals alike were curious about her. “I’m not sure he’d allow you to come here unaccompanied.”

And the last thing she needed was one of Black Glove’s lackeys hanging around while Hosta showed her the proper way to hold a flogger or forced her to say words she had never heard before with a soft insistence that they were only as improper as her mind made them.

The important thing was, her safety wasn’t actually in question, which meant she didn’t need Black Glove’s protection. At most, she might get approached and asked an uncomfortable question about her friend and his business dealings. About her involvement with him. Since she had no knowledge of his business anyway, it really wasn’t cause for concern.

“If you can handle Finsel’s nobles, you can handle a shop owner from the slums who wants to know the secret to Black Glove’s success.”

Hosta’s confidence in her worked wonders, and so she kept her head held high as she made her way back through the red-light district on her way back home from another lesson. She was wearing a hood, of course, her identified concealed the same way it was when she made her visits to the Tavern.

“You again…”

Magda frowned at the voice, recognizing it immediately. The barmaid. She found the woman in the crowd easily, thinking she’d be so cute if she didn’t have that scowl on her face so often. It was a nice change of pace, seeing her in her day clothes instead of the bar uniform.

“How are you today, Miss?” Magda tried, figuring it was best to persist with the overly kind approach with this one.

“Is he already so bored with you that he sent you to the red-light district?”

“I’m here on personal business. It has nothing to do with Mr. Black Glove.”

“He’s not the type to let his pets play with anyone else.”

“It’s a good thing I’m not his pet, then,” Magda said simply, trying desperately to ignore the way those words had stroked the fire in her. What kind of dominant was he, exactly? “I’m not here to play with anyone.”

“This is a strange place for a lady to be, then.”

“I could say the same to you. I’d have thought Mr. Black Glove was more generous with his salaries.”

“What I do in my free time is none of your business.”

“Then perhaps we should part ways here,” Magda suggested, relieved when the barmaid just hmphed and took off in the other direction. She hurried along on her route, deciding quite promptly that she should take another detour before going back to her estate. It was strange how the path was so familiar now, her feet guiding her to the Tavern before she had time to second-guess her decision.

It was early. Much earlier than usual for one of her trips to see Black Glove, but the man always made it sound like he was working at all hours of the day. Even when they were playing cards with the men in the bar, he was up to something. Earning their favor or drawing out their gossips—sharing just enough to make them believe they were on equal terms. There was a science to it, she’d discovered, not dissimilar to how she exchanged intel at a ball.

“Good afternoon, Tim,” she greeted the bartender, a warm smile on his face as she walked in.

“What brings you here at this hour, Miss?”

“I was in the neighborhood,” Magda explained with a shrug. “I thought I’d stop by to say hello. Is Mr. Black Glove in?”

“He’s upstairs.”

Magda blinked, not sure what to make of that. She knew there was a downstairs, obviously, but what was _upstairs?_

“It’s where he sleeps if he works too late and can’t make it home,” Tim explained, like he could read her confusion. “He has a personal room up there.”

Oh. Magda smiled a bit, relieved to hear it. Who’d have thought there was a bedroom in a bar? It was almost funny—just when she thought this place couldn’t possibly hold any more surprises. The fact that Black Glove would be sleeping at this time of day was another surprise, though she chose not to think about what may have kept him up so late.

“I won’t intrude, then,” she decided, the farewell on the tip of her tongue until Tim beckoned her over to the bar.

“Let me get you a drink.”

“It’s a bit early for—”

“Juice, then,” he told her, already pouring her a glass and setting it on the bar. It was too kind of an offer for her to decline, and so she sat down comfortably, pulling out her coin purse. “It’s on the house. Black Glove’s orders.”

“It can’t be good for business, the amount of free drinks he offers me,” she mused, sipping at her juice. Apple—her favorite. “Why won’t he ever accept my coin?”

“You’ll be a patron if he does that.”

“And?”

“He prefers not to think of you as such, Miss.”

Ah. His words brought Black Glove’s assertion back to her in a flash—he wasn’t one to mix work and play. Is that what she’d become if she did something as simple as pay for a drink? Just another patron?

What did that make her to him right now?

\--

Things only got more interesting the more she went to visit Miss Hosta, their little lessons quickly becoming more in depth the more comfortable Magda became with each instrument. She’d seen them all at this point, selecting whichever one she wanted to learn about each day before Hosta would explain—always taking great care not to say anything too startling until it seemed Magda was ready to hear it.

“Perhaps a demonstration is in order?” Hosta had suggested once, and just like that all of her practice was out the window. Her face was bright red, and she was shaking her head with uncertainty. “I could bring someone to join us. A friend.”

“I’m not sure I’d be comfortable with anyone else knowing what you’re showing me.”

Unless it was Juven, maybe, and even then she wasn’t so sure. She adored him, but that man didn’t know when to keep the inappropriate comments to himself. Black Glove was the only other person who knew of her growing infatuation with this lifestyle, and she wasn’t about to invite him either. Not when he was the man she couldn't quite shake from her mind when she thought about all of this.

“Helena is my usual assistant during my demonstrations,” Hosta had told her, letting her simmer on the idea before continuing, “I can see if she’s available next time. I’m certain she’d be willing to join us.”

And that was how their one on one lessons and conversations became a small group of three, laughter filling the air as they chatted away in Hosta’s residence. Sometimes they didn’t talk about bondage or pain or anything related at all—they spoke about whatever came to mind instead, the atmosphere more relaxing than any Magda experienced in Finsel’s social circle.

Was this what life could have been like if she’d stayed in the slums?

By the time they got to the demonstration portion of their visits, Magda was always on the edge of her seat, drawn in by these two bold women. They was something truly mesmerizing about it every time they started to play.

Helena, full of life and humor, would fall deadly quiet. It was like she was in a trance as Hosta worked her magic, binding the younger woman with expert hands before taking a step back to admire her own work. She’d hold that pipe in her hands, taking her time to savor the moment until Helena was perfectly still. Then she’d accept whatever device Magda handed her, letting it dance over Helena’s exposed skin until she was panting—pleading, some days.

The strangest part, Magda thought, was that there was nothing inherently sexual about any of it.

Both women remained in some form of attire each time they played together. Helena usually stripped down to her lingerie, explaining that she could feel it better that way, but Hosta never touched her anywhere that might be deemed improper. Not even once. Magda had seen more obscenity on the ballroom dance floor, where noblemen often stole an inappropriate touch from their dance partners when they believed no one was looking.

What Helena and Hosta were doing was different. Beautiful, even. It felt like for the first time, she could truly understand what was meant when people used that word in reference to this behavior.

“It’s not so scary now, is it?” Helena asked, pulling her stockings back on after their most recent demonstration as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened at all. “Do you feel like these lessons are helping?”

“Yes,” Magda admitted, her mouth dry as she watched her friend carefully. Just because Helena was moving on with her day didn’t mean Magda would forget the sounds she had made so quickly. “Does it…does it frustrate you, Helena?”

“Sexually?”

Hosta bopped her friend on the head with her own hand fan, sending her a meaningful look. “You’ll run her off if you’re not careful.”

“It’s not a dirty word!” Helena exclaimed, turning to Magda for defense. All she could do was raise her hands up, not wanting to get caught in the middle of this. “You’re the one who asked. If you want to know, then say the word yourself.”

Magda glanced between the two, sure that she could say or do no wrong here. This had become a safe zone for her, and while they had been known to tease her from time to time, they weren’t here to criticize. “Does it frustrate you, sexually?”

“Does _what_ frustrate me sexually?”

Another bop to the head. “Answer the poor girl’s question.”

“Fine,” Helena laughed, continuing to strap her shoes. “For me, yes, it does. That’s half the fun though.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s different for everyone,” Helena explained with a shrug. “I just like letting go for a minute, personally. It helps me to clear my head—to forget everything else that’s going on in my life. If there’s sexual release involved, great. If not, that’s okay too.”

“What about you, Miss Hosta?”

“There’s nothing sexual about it for me,” she responded, equally as casual as Helena had been. “It’s the power play that’s exhilarating—having her at my complete disposal.”

“Truly?” Magda asked, believing it when they both gave an easy nod. “So you both enjoy it even though you get two different things from it.”

“You’re learning quickly. That’s good because I’ve almost run out of toys to show you,” Hosta admitted with a wry smile. “I was going to have to resort to different types of rope play if you weren’t sated after next week.”

“I might like that."

The truth was, the bondage bit had become her favorite component to all this, though she wasn’t about to admit that so easily. How did it feel, she wondered, to be bound, helpless, and at the complete mercy of a dominant? That very question kept her up late into the night, her heart no longer the only thing that seemed to ache as she thought it over. It was always the same figure looming over her as she imagined it, indulging her in this the same way he seemed to with everything else.

Looking him in the eyes was no simple feat these days, her only solace the simple fact he wasn't yet aware of her visits with Hosta and Helena.

“What other types of rope play are there?” Maga wondered, trying not to sound as eager as she felt at the prospect.

“Perhaps you can come see my next demonstration at the Tavern,” Hosta winked, looking quite pleased when Magda’s mouth opened in surprise. “I think you’ve seen enough. It’s fair to say you won’t faint if Black Glove lets you in.”

“But…All I’ve done is watch.”

“I think we all know you’d rather be tied up by a certain scoundrel with bad tastes in gloves,” Helena chimed in, earning herself another bop on the head. She snatched her fan from her friend, fully affronted. “Stop doing that!”

“What do you mean scoundrel?” Magda asked, confused. “Mr. Black Glove is one of the nicest—”

“You can’t seriously buy his act.”

“He’s not a bad man, Helena,” Hosta insisted. “He does a lot for our community.”

“That doesn’t make what I said any less true. He’s broken more than a few hearts around this place. Don’t get too attached, Magda.”

“Black Glove is always very clear with his submissives,” Hosta said calmly. “If they got the wrong idea—”

“He’s contradictory. He showers them in gifts and then tosses them aside when he’s bored.”

The two women stared one another down, Magda looking between them anxiously. She had no idea Black Glove was such a polarizing figure, having only ever seen one side of him before. At this point she didn’t know what to think, but ultimately it didn’t matter. He hadn’t even given her permission to join the club yet, let alone any indication that he would be willing to play with her.

She needed to take this one step at a time.


	7. Chapter 7

Three months.

That was how long it took for Magda to claim a single victory from Black Glove, her own disbelief almost ruining the moment. It wasn’t until he pushed all the chips on the table in her direction that she understood this was _it._ This was the moment she had been waiting for, and there was barely anyone left in the silly Tavern to celebrate with her.

“I suppose I should offer you a prize,” Black Glove told her, his tone softer than she’d ever heard it before even as she began to gloat shamelessly. “What would you like?”

“I’ve got all your precious chips. What more could I ask for?”

“Anything you desire.” He was already gesturing to the bartender, a glass on wine on its way at its usual, impressive speed. “Perhaps you’d like something more permanent for a change? A trinket of some kind?”

“No, it’s fine. You admitting defeat is more than enough,” she assured him, though she accepted the drink happily. It was only then that it struck her she’d come here to discuss something. Tonight was the night. “There is one thing, actually.”

He eyed her expectantly, like all she had to do was say the word and he would find a way to make it happen. Instead she made it happen herself, gesturing kindly to the bartender—Tim, she’d learned—and having a glass brought over for Black Glove as well.

“Stay upstairs with me tonight,” she requested, pleased when he took a sip. A wordless sign of agreement. “You’re a true gentleman, Mr. Black Glove. I’ve never seen a man accept defeat so easily.”

He snorted at that. “You realize you’ll have to do it again, yes? No one was around to witness your victory, which means it never happened.”

“They’ll believe it if you’re the one who tells them!”

“Why should I? I’ve already awarded you a prize in a game where we made no wager,” he told her with a wicked grin. “Perhaps tomorrow night you can try again; I’ll arrange an audience.”

“I have a ball to attend tomorrow,” she admitted with a frown.

“Ah, I see. The Senate ball, I assume?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll see you there, then. Perhaps we can create our own game to keep it interesting.”

She raised a brow, surprised to hear he would be going—let alone that he wanted to play games there. “What business do you have with the Senate?”

“None. I simply wish to see you again,” he responded smoothly, winking as the blush spread across her face. “It may be a nice change of pace, being the one to come see you for a change.”

“You enjoy my company, Mr. Black Glove?”

“I’d have scared you off weeks ago if I didn’t,” he told her, and somehow it didn’t even make her bat an eye. Instead it filled her with a warmth, pleased to hear she wasn’t the only one enjoying their little games. “You’re unlike any other noble I’ve met, Lady Ellenstein.”

“I’m able to relax more here. I fear you may not recognize me at the ball.”

“I look forward to seeing a new side of you, then.”

“What about you?” she asked, eyes narrowing curiously. “When do I get to see another side of you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you always seem to be on your best behavior around me. I expect no different at the ball.” He raised a brow, like he was daring her to continue with this dangerous line of thought. “You’re kind—generous. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed as much as I do when I’m here with you. But you’re more than that.”

“Go ahead,” he encouraged, sipping his wine patiently. “Ask me whatever it is that’s bothering you.”

“What are you like when you go downstairs?”

Black Glove shook his head, a quiet sigh escaping his lips. “I’m not an innocent man, Magda, and despite what you may think about me, I’ve little patience for games.”

“Juven may have warned me of that.”

“Yet you keep coming back, night after night. Now you ask me this, when you already know exactly what I am. What I’m like.”

“You told me to ask,” she reminded him, a bit defensive.

“The real question is, what would _you_ be? You’ve brought many noble men to their knees,” Black Glove mused, smirking at her thoroughly scandalized expression. “Do you prefer to keep them there? Or perhaps you’d like to drop all pretenses and be brought to your own knees for a change?”

She swallowed hard. “That’s not—”

“You’d make a lovely sight, with eyes like those. I can see it now.”

Her face was flushed red as she tried to gather her thoughts, desperate to think of anything other than _that._ It was so much easier to imagine now that she’d started watching Helena and Hosta together, and Goddess, she was ready to find out how it really felt to surrender like that.

When she didn’t say a word, he continued, “We’ve been dancing around this subject long enough, kitten. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

She fidgeted a bit with her sleeve, trailing her thumb over the soft fabric as she debated her answer. It was time to come clean, clearly, but she wasn't sure how he would react. Not when she and Hosta had kept it from him all this time. What would he think, knowing she went behind his back to learn more about the lifestyle he coveted? Would he be pleased—curious? Or would he be angry she had gone around him after he had told her she couldn't join his club?

After a deep breath, the confession poured out of her mouth, every word a relief for her to finally reveal, “I’ve been going to see Miss Hosta recently, like you suggested. To help clear the notions I had.”

Her narrowed his gaze slightly. “I’m aware.”

“How?” she asked, staring at him in disbelief.

“Very little happens in the slums without me knowing about it.”

“You’ve known all this time?” It had been weeks since she started going to see Hosta, and he hadn’t so much as batted an eyelash at her during her trips to see him. Even now he was just smirking, like she should have known that he knew. “Do you know what we’ve been doing?”

“I can venture guess, with Helena’s involvement. Have they been putting on a show for you?”

“I can’t believe you!” she grumbled, whacking his arm when he didn’t even _try_ to defend himself. Here she was, worried about how he might react...and he already knew. “Why didn’t you say anything if you knew?”

“If you wanted to discuss it, you would have mentioned it on your own. I was respecting your privacy.”

“Hardly!”

“As best I could under the circumstances,” he amended, capturing her hand in his own before she could whack him again. “You’re a familiar face in the slums now, kitten. What did you think would happen when my associates saw you wandering the red-light district?”

“Why do you have associates in the red-light district?” she countered, raising both brows.

“I have eyes all over the city. There’s not a single district where I don’t do business of some kind.”

“So, what? You had them spy on me?”

“There was no need. It wasn’t difficult to figure out what you were up to when I found out who you were visiting. I told them to keep an eye on your travels after that—to ensure your safety. That’s all.”

“I don’t need your protection. The only person who gave me a hard time was your own barmaid, and I dealt with it just fine on my own.”

“Kitten, please. Tell me what I can do to win your forgiveness, and I’ll see it done.”

“Let me join your club,” Magda responded with ease. To her surprise, he remained silent for a long moment, regarding her closely. “I promise not to do anything to upset your other patrons. I’ll respect all your rules, and I’ll even be nice to the Grand Duke. Please, Black Glove.”

“Why do you want this so badly?”

“I need it,” she corrected, letting out a shaky sigh. She’d yet to say it out loud until now, and it felt good to get it out. “There’s more to me than you know. More than _I_ know.”

“You can explore that side of yourself without joining my club, clearly.”

“I can’t just tag along with Hosta and Helena forever. They’re wonderful, but they’re not…They can’t give me what I need.”

She swallowed hard as he watched her every move, hoping he didn’t ask the next question. Honestly, she wasn’t sure she would be able to answer if he asked what it was she needed from all this. Not yet. The minutes seemed to pass as he considered it until he finally broke the silence.

“Very well,” he agreed, clearly still reluctant even as she shot him a bright smile. “I’ll accept your membership on two conditions.”

“What’s that?”

“First, your fee will be waved,” he told her, his tone so final that she knew there would be no room to debate this one. “Second…Am I right to assume you wish to explore your submissive side?”

She tried to nod again, only to be given a look that warned her she needed to use her words this time. “Yes.”

“All new members are assigned either a mentor or a trainer—a mentor for dominants, and a trainer for submissives. I will name myself as your trainer,” he told her, waving off the questions that were already starting to form in her mind. “We’ll discuss the details further another night when neither of us are drinking, assuming you’re still open to the idea.”

“I will be.”

She lifted her glass of wine, not seeing the point in cursing it for the disruption. Back when he’d first use her drink as an excuse to keep her out, she’d been so baffled and frustrated. Now she understood the need to wait until their heads were perfectly clear, especially when it came to her first step as an official club member.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I swear we are getting there slowly but surely. I'm a couple chapters ahead (which is good because I go back to work tomorrow so updates will inevitably slow down), so I've got some idea how this is all going to continue - but let me know if there's anything specific you're hoping to see when they start playing?

Balls had lost their appeal quite some time ago for Magda—far before her family name had been restored, truthfully. It was more of an obligation now than anything, where she was forced to put on a show just to keep her family name relevant in the circle. Each noble there had one or two topics they preferred to discuss, and she had them all memorized. She knew exactly what to say to which person, and how to turn around with a smile and say the exact opposite to the next.

It was exhausting, frankly, but it was also necessary.

Normally she managed just fine regardless of how tired she grew, but this particular ball could not end quickly enough. She’d gone through great lengths getting ready, putting on her very best dress—she’d matched her accessories perfectly, and even let her mother help with her makeup. Her corset was tighter than she wanted it to be, and she hadn’t even complained once which was saying something.

It had been quite some time since she’d put so much effort into preparing for a ball.

“Are you certain he said he’d be here?” Juven asked her, looking far more sympathetic than she expected as he handed her a glass of wine.

She stared at it with a furrowed brow, not ready to take a sip just yet. “Positive. I’ve been avoiding drink all night in case he wanted to talk after.”

“This could be a blessing in disguise. It’s not too late to change your mind.”

“You’ve been trying to get me to join all along!” she reminded him pointedly. “Why would you want me to turn back now that I'm truly interested?”

“Because he’s up to something. Black Glove doesn’t train anyone.”

“He’s my friend. He’s trying to help me.”

“As am I,” Juven told her. “Perhaps I could train you instead. I know enough—”

“It wouldn’t be the same,” Magda insisted, though she smiled at the thought. Juven’s heart and head were in two different places right now, and while she knew he would treat her well, she didn’t want to get caught in the middle of that. “I want to try this with someone who wants me as a partner, Juven.”

“Why wouldn’t I want you? I adore everything about you.”

She smiled at that, not doubting it for a moment. “You know I’m right about this. I wouldn’t be able to take you seriously at all! We’d spend more time laughing than playing.”

“I just can’t shake this feeling like this is what he wanted all along,”

“Did it ever occur to you that maybe I have as well?” Magda admitted, propriety be damned. Her face was probably red at the admission, but she wasn’t going to stand by and let Juven assume the worst about a man who had been nothing but kind and patient with her.

She wasn’t so naïve. There was a good chance Juven was right at the start. Maybe Black Glove had his eyes on her from the moment she stepped foot into he Tavern, wide eyed and innocent. Maybe at the time he’d just seen another potential member—more coin in his pocket. She wasn’t sure, but she knew it didn’t matter now. None of it changed the bond they had formed. They were friends. Opponents and drinking partners. There was no need for him to go through such great lengths if all he wanted was to collect another membership fee, and then he’d gone and waved that on top of everything else.

“You knew nothing about this scene. It’s not possible you wanted this all along.”

“Not directly. There’s just something about him,” she tried to explain, very nearly ready to crumble and take a sip of the wine Juven had given her. It wasn’t something she quite knew how to explain, and so she would prefer to drop the subject entirely. “He could have his choice of partners, and he chose me.”

“Do you even know what it is to be in a training partnership?”

“Well…” She paused, ultimately shaking her head. “I assume he’s going to teach me more about this.”

“Yes, he is. He’ll show you what it means to be submissive—he’ll walk you through some of the common things a dominant may want, and when he thinks you’re ready, you’ll be released to find a real partner.” Juven paused, holding her gaze steady like he was making sure she understood clearly. “It’s a temporary partnership, Magda.”

_Temporary._ That word hit her harder than expected, though she had learned enough about maintaining composure to smile through it all like she was unaffected. It wasn’t like she was expecting a courtship out of this anyway—she could already imagine what her mother would say.

“He told me we’d discuss the details next time we speak.”

“I know you, Eyas. Promise me you won’t get too attached.”

“Says the man who fell in love with—” _the one lady in Finsel who would be weary about loving him in return._

“Precisely why you should listen to me,” Juven interjected, and to her surprise, he snatched the wine glass out of her hand. “I’ll be taking this.”

She opened her mouth to question him, but he was already walking off, raising the glass to his lips as he went. What a strange man…

“I suspect he's hiding the evidence,” a voice murmured from behind, causing her to jump where she stood. The man chuckled, stepping in closer until she could feel his warmth. “Beauty truly has been passed down in the Ellenstein family.”

Magda spun around, goosebumps spreading up her arms as she met Black Glove’s eyes. She had heard that line many times before but hadn’t expected it from him—not when he knew she was adopted. Judging by the amusement in his eye, that just made his flattery all the more fun.

“Mr Black Glove. You’re here.”

“I’m nothing if not a man of my word. I told you I’d join you, did I not?”

“The ball started hours ago,” she told him, frowning a bit. “I was getting ready to bid everyone a good night.”

“I had prior engagement this evening. Regrettably, it took longer than anticipated,” he told her, looking more apologetic than she had ever witnessed. “Perhaps I can persuade you to stay a while longer?”

“Perhaps. What did you have in mind?”

“Have you been drinking, Lady Ellenstein?”

“Not a drop.”

“What do you say?” he asked, clearly ready to summon a maid if she just said the word. “Would you like to bet a glass with me?”

“A game on a drink?”

“If you finish a glass, I’m certain I’ll win the first round.”

“I was hoping to avoid drink this evening,” Magda told him, raising a challenging brow. He was clearly giving her an out—or trying to at least, if she had changed her mind about their previous conversation. “Is there another game you have in mind?”

“I’m at your mercy this evening for keeping you waiting. The rules and wager are up to you.”

“A real gentleman wouldn’t ask a lady for a wager at a ball,” she told him pointedly.

“I suppose it’s best we clear this up now, then, Lady Ellenstein,” he winked, offering her his hand like he knew where she was going with this. A real gentleman would ask for her hand in a dance, clearly. He led her to the floor, hand on the small of her back until she was pulled a single step closer than necessary. “I’m not a gentleman.”

That didn’t stop him from twirling her around before she could blink, eliciting a surprised gasp. She had danced with many men at these balls, some of them on this very evening—none had ever spun her around quite so elegantly. The beat seemed to increase with their movements, encouraging his every move. By the time the song winded down, she was close in his arms again, ignoring the whispers and looks their little show had attracted.

Black Glove held her in place when they were done, staring down at her indulgently. “You look pleased, Lady Ellenstein.”

“I don’t usually enjoy dancing at these balls.”

“Did you dance much this evening?”

“It’s rude for a lady to decline an invitation to dance,” she told him, frowning slightly.

“Then I’m glad it was only ours that you enjoyed. Will you accompany me to the balcony? You look like you could use some air.”

Her face was flush at his blunt request, though she nodded along quite easily. Some air _did_ sound nice all of a sudden. She accepted his arm, allowing her to lead her to the balcony the way a polite nobleman would. It was a bit ironic that he considered himself neither of those things.

“Your dress is stunning,” Black Glove told her, eyes sweeping her up and down once they were secluded from the others. “I’d nearly forgotten how you looked outside of your civilian clothing.”

“I think of these balls as my work, Mr. Black Glove. I have to dress the part.”

“I see. If this is your work, then perhaps it’s not the best place for us to speak.”

Work and play. She very nearly sighed, not surprised at all that he was abiding by his rules—his personal code, it seemed, when it came to his one. That didn’t make it _her_ code though, and so she persisted, “If not now, when? I made it a point to wait for you. To refrain from drinking.”

“I’d be more than happy to walk you home this evening, then.”

Magda’s heart jumped in her chest, though her thoughts immediately fell to her mother. What would she say if Magda turned up later than usual, on the arm of a bar owner of all things? It wasn’t like she could explain that even according to Juven, Black Glove was one of the most powerful men in the city.

“My mother—”

“Will be weary of your involvement with me, yes. It won’t be difficult to arrange for her support.”

“Excuse me?”

“Did you not find it strange, that I could secure entry to a Senate Ball at the last minute?”

“Well, no,” Magda frowned a little. “You’re in business with—”

“Half of this ballroom, at least,” Black Glove confirmed with a wink. “If I can gain the Grand Duke’s support, what makes you believe I can’t gain your mother’s favor?”

“I’d thought our partnership would be more…”

“Private?” he mused, a thoughtful hand on his chin. “What we do will be, yes. The fact that you’ll be mine though, I intend for everyone to know. You’re quite the prize, kitten.”

His words sent a shudder through her body, not having expected to hear something so blunt. He wanted her to be… _his._ Like a piece of property, to do with as he saw fit. She swallowed hard at the implication, wondering exactly that meant to a man like him. His preferences were still a complete mystery to her, but as she eyed the cane he carried, tucked away behind his back with just the handle jutting out, she suspected she knew at least some of it.

“I’ve said too much when we haven’t reached an agreement yet. If you prefer this to be kept between us, you’ll find I can make that happen just as easily.”

“That might be best to start,” she admitted quietly, glancing down.

The last thing she needed was the eyes of his entire club on her while she was still getting used to the idea of being a part of it. While she was still learning what it meant to be his—to be submissive.

“Magda,” he muttered, his voice unnaturally strained. She blinked as she felt his gloved hand on her chin, tilting her head right back up. “I’m not the type of man who likes to repeat himself. I expect you to look at me while we’re having these discussions.”

His fingers lingered there a long moment as their eyes met, so many unspoken things flowing between them. There was no need for her to be embarrassed. There was nothing she could say that would stop this from happening if it was still something she wanted. He fully intended to indulge her as she stepped into this role, and he would help her along the way so long as she followed whatever rules they set out.

“Let me walk you home. We can talk about this further next time you stop by the Tavern.”

“But—”

“I want you to think long and hard about this—about what type of partner you want. About what you hope to gain from our partnership. Think about it for as many nights as you require, and then come see me when you’re ready.”

“What about what _you_ want?”

“I’ll be your trainer, Magda. I already know precisely what I want, and it’s secondary to what you need.”

She could see it in his eyes that it wouldn’t be worth asking him what it was he wanted—that he had no intention of telling her just yet. Not until she figured out her own expectations first and dabbled with him enough to figure out what it was she actually liked.

It was sweet, almost, if such a word could really be used to describe anything relating to this lifestyle. She just hoped at least some of their interests lined up—otherwise Juven would be right. Their partnership would be doomed from the start if they shared no common ground.


	9. Chapter 9

Magda fully intended to stop by the Tavern the night after the Senate ball out of stubbornness if nothing else, but something seemed to be keeping her away. Every time she stepped foot into the slums, she turned on her heel before she got too close like an actual kitten running off with its tail between its legs.

It wasn’t that she was second-guessing her decision to join Black Glove’s club. No, that was the one thing she was absolutely certain about—that and the fact that he would be the best partner for her as someone new to all of this. The issue seemed to be something far simpler.

She didn’t have an answer to his question yet. What did she want out of her submission?

Another two balls passed her by before she knew it, and she sat in her estate after the most recent contemplating that same lingering question. She pulled her earrings off, looking at herself in the vanity all the while. So much effort went into all this, and for what? She swiped at her makeup, letting out a drawn-out sigh. It took twice as long to get out of her ballgowns than it did to put them on, the maids already retired for the evening.

The top priority was always making sure she was presentable. She was expected to handle the rest herself—from her behavior at the balls where she had to watch her every word, to her beauty sleep when she got home. Assuming she didn’t collapse on the bed whilst still in her gown.

Goddess, she was tired.

It wasn’t until she was tugging at the silly jewels in her hair, wincing in pain as she pulled it inadvertently, that she realized this was _it._ Part of it at least. All she wanted to do was forget, even just for a little while. Forget the nobility. The weight of her family’s name resting on her shoulders. She wanted relief in whatever form he could give it to her, even if it were fleeting. She wanted to forget the responsibilities and the etiquette—let someone else deal with all that for a minute so that she could breathe.

Her eyes lit up in that moment, and she was on her feet before she could think twice. It didn’t matter that she was still in her ballgown, nor did it matter that she’d only finished removing half her accessories. She needed to go to the Tavern to tell Black Glove, and it couldn’t wait another day.

She had the sense to grab a coat on her way out, making sure to raise the hood as she hurried through the streets. It was scary how good she was at this—at sneaking out of her estate and navigating her way to the slums. Normally she was in her day clothes which made it a bit easier to move, but nothing was going to hold her back today. If she could dance in heels for hours on end, she could take a stroll to the slums in them. She hurried along, moving as quickly as her feet would allow to get to her destination. Her legs just didn't seem to be going fast enough, to her own frustration, and she was terrified this moment of clarity would pass her by if she didn't get there quickly enough.

“Miss?” Tim, the bartender, recognized her right away, looking thoroughly worried as she swung the door open inelegantly. Before she even knew what had happened, one of the barmaids was scurrying away and Tim was by her side, catching her before she could stumble. “What happened?”

“I ran here,” she tried to explained, catching her breath in waves. Clearly that had been a mistake, but everything had made so much sense—she couldn’t risk waiting. Forgetting what she needed to say to Black Glove. “Where…?”

“He’ll be here soon.”

She focused on catching her breathing, nodding in understanding as the minutes seemed to drag on. It wasn't much longer until she heard the sound of expensive shoes clattering against the wood floor, reminding her that everything would be fine.

“Magda,” Black Glove said, taking her from Tim’s steady hands without delay. “What happened?”

“The most wonderful thing!”

He narrowed his eyes, like he hadn’t heard what she said. “Are you hurt?” he asked, looking over her disheveled form.

“I’m fine,” she insisted, pushing herself out of his grasp just to show she could stand on her own two feet. It was then that she realized her heel had snapped, causing her to almost lose balance. Black Glove’s arm was around her waist again before she did herself any harm, promptly lifting her into his arms this time before she could blink. “What are you—”

“Have you been drinking?” he asked, carrying her bridal style through the bar.

“Of course not!”

“Were you being chased? Threatened?”

“No.”

“Why did you run here if you weren’t being chased?”

“I…” It sounded a lot sillier now that he was saying it in that sharp tone, looking at her like he didn’t believe she was telling him the whole truth—like she must have been in danger, and he would deal with it if she just _told_ him. “I’m fine, Black Glove.”

“Your heel isn’t.”

“Where are you taking me?” she asked, looking around curiously. They’d never gone to this corner of the bar, and she felt a wave of apprehension as she saw a staircase. An upward staircase. “Black Glove?”

“We’re going upstairs,” he told her, already ascending the steps. “I’ll arrange a change of clothes for you.”

“Why are we going upstairs?”

Black Glove didn’t seem interested in answering the question, even as she tried desperately to meet his eyes. He just kept moving, arms firm and secure around her body in a way that told her this was happening whether she liked it or not. The only thing that kept her from worrying about that was the simple fact that his hands were gentle, as always, as they held her.

She had never been so close to him, now that she was thinking about it, face red as she realized this was well beyond what might be considered proper. She could feel his breath on her neck as he held her, his muscled chest keeping her steady. The way he lifted her so easily, too, it left her speechless in his arms as he kept moving without a word.

He maneuvered to open the door before she could worry about him needing a free hand to do so, closing it behind them before walking her straight through the first room and then into the next—a bedroom, it seemed, where he dropped her directly onto a soft mattress.

“Well?” Black Glove asked, taking a step back and looking at her with raised brows. “Would you care to explain yourself?"

“It sounds silly now.”

“You’d best tell me anyway if you expect me to understand. I was in the middle of a very important meeting, Magda,” he told her, folding his arms across his chest and eyeing her with a surprising amount of patience given the situation. “I thought you were hurt—my barmaid stormed in and said you had collapsed.”

Magda swallowed hard under his stare, already kicking herself. “I didn’t collapse, I just didn’t realize I needed to catch my breath until I stopped running.”

“I can’t help if you won’t tell me what you were running from.”

“I wasn’t running _from_ anything, unless my estate counts,” she admitted. “I wanted to see you.”

He still didn’t look convinced, eyes sweeping her body one last time for any injuries. “You look a mess, kitten.”

“You sure know how to flatter a woman,” Magda muttered, fingers twirling in her now unkempt hair. “I was in the middle of changing after the Assembly ball.”

“Allow me to help you then, since you’ve come all this way,” he told her, waiting for any sign of objection as he approached to the bed.

She watched with wide eyes as he dropped to one knee, gloved fingers reaching out and trailing down her calves. Her heart was hammering away as she watched him with wide eyes, his gaze never leaving hers as his hands finally trailed down to her feet. He removed the broken shoe first, then went through the same motion before unclasping the other and tossing it aside carelessly.

“Should a dominant be on his knees?”

“A woman like you could bring any man to his knees, dominant or otherwise.” His eyes were on hers even as his hands were moving back up her calves, pausing at her knees as he raised a single brow. “May I?”

Magda was sure her heart couldn’t take it any more even as she nodded her consent, blushing furiously as he began to remove her knee-high stockings one leg at a time. It was too much, the way he was looking at her without even seeming to blink.

“Would you prefer to remove your dress by yourself?”

“Yes,” she said, not allowing herself a moment to think otherwise. “You mentioned a change of clothes?”

“I’ll go see if they’ve arrived,” Black Glove responded, promptly to his feet and walking out of the room before she could ask when he had even made those arrangements.

It was then that she took a look around the room, the full weight of the situation bearing down on her. She was alone in a bedroom with a man who was fully prepared to dominate more than just her thoughts. He hadn’t implied anything untoward, but the way he had _looked_ at her…

What did he think would happen this evening, exactly?

There was no way she was ready for much of anything in her current state. All she wanted was to tell him what she’d discovered—that she knew what it was _she_ wanted now. Something told her he would be just fine with that, even if her sudden intrusion had suggested otherwise.

She was on her feet in a flash, certain that remaining on the bed would only give the wrong impression. Never had she once entered a man’s bedroom, let alone been placed on his bed. Did he often bring ladies here? The thought alone displeased her, but there was no indication it was true. The room itself was a bit plain, its décor matching the simple woods found in the Tavern below. His bed was made of the same wood, looking thoroughly used. Used, but not… _used._ There were no markings in the wood, nor any signs of the type of play she had seen with Hosta. There were no chests filled with toys—no ropes hanging from the ceiling.

“I make it a point not to entertain in my place of business,” Black Glove told her, startling her to spin around. He stood in the doorway, watching her carefully as she stopped where she stood. “For you, kitten.”

Magda watched as he walked to the bed, setting down a neatly folded set of clothing. He turned on his heel after that, closing the door behind him as he exited. It took a moment before she realized he was giving her privacy, a silent command to change. A command she would happily obey, if it meant getting out of this silly gown. Then maybe they could have a real conversation about why she had come here.


	10. Chapter 10

To say she was surprised by the clothing he brought her would be an understatement.

It turned out, he had something very specific in mind for this evening. Nightclothes. He had brought her a nightgown to change into, implying heavily that she would be staying longer than expected. The unspoken invitation had her shaken, her heart racing in her chest as she debated what to do. Even if she did stay, how could she meet him in the next room dressed like this? It was only the simple fact she knew he would never make any unwelcome advances that gave her the confidence to put it on for now.

Magda had never worn a nightgown outside of the comfort of her own bedroom, not even if she needed a drink at night—no, instead she would call for a maid or someone to bring it to her, remembering her mother’s words. A lady never wore her bed dress outside of her own bedroom, period, even if it were to cover her completely. This one was no more or less revealing than her ballgown had been, a simple slip that extended to her knees. Thankfully he had also brought a night coat made of the same fine material, extending down to her feet. She pulled it close around her body for good measure, preparing her words carefully. There was no way she could go home in such an outfit, and her ball gown was torn from her impromptu race to the Tavern. She would need a real change of clothes before the night ended.

“Your ballgown revealed more skin,” Black Glove mused, smirking at her as if he could read the modesty on her face when she emerged from the room. There was a quaint sitting room she hadn’t noticed on their way in, connected to the smallest kitchen she had seen since her childhood. In its center was Black Glove, sitting a table that looked remarkably similar to the ones found in the Tavern below. “I assure you, my estate is far more comfortable.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“I keep this space for private business dealings,” he explained, beckoning her to come closer. “It’s convenient as well, having a place to sleep when the evenings draw out.”

“You owe me no explanation,” Magda told him plainly, not a trace of judgment in her mind as she approached him. For a moment she forgot what she was wearing, smiling softly as his eyes swept her up and down appreciatively. “I’m sorry to impose.”

“Your presence is never an imposition, though I admit your timing wasn’t ideal. I’ll just have to double down on my offer tomorrow,” Black Glove told her, shrugging it off as if it were no issue. “I’ve an arrangement with the Spiral Spire. A mage is going to enchant some of my equipment.”

“Enchant, meaning…?” She raised a brow as he nodded, wondering exactly what such a thing could mean in his club. It sounded intriguing if nothing else, though from her own experience enchanting clothing, it would undoubtedly cost quite a bit. “Would you be inclined to use such equipment?”

“Yes, I would be. Now, enough of these pretenses,” he told her, gesturing to a pillow she hadn’t noticed that was on the floor in front of him. A kneeling pillow. “We have much to discuss, kitten.”

“You want me to…?”

“Kneel,” Black Glove confirmed, eyeing her expectantly. She hesitated a moment, paralyzed by his stare. “I find it easiest to have these conversations without any distance between us.”

The lingering offer in the air wasn’t lost on her—they hadn’t reached any formal agreement, so she was free to refuse. To sit across from him at the table while they talked about the thing that had clearly begun to fester between them.

Being close to him sounded so much nicer than sitting on that cold, wooden chair.

She stepped in slowly, pulling her night coat around her so that it wouldn’t bunch up under his knees as she settled down. It was surprisingly comfortable, sitting on her knees in front of Black Glove. Something told her it wasn’t just the pillow, either. There was a fire in his eyes as he stared down, and she knew there was little she wouldn’t do so long as she got to see that look.

“I’ve imagined you like this since the day we met,” he told her, the smirk on his face almost predatory. Luckily he made no move, like he knew the situation was still delicate somehow. “I’d hoped to be standing when it happened.”

“You can, if you prefer.”

“Not tonight, kitten. There will be plenty of other opportunities to bring you to your knees.”

She swallowed hard at that promise, shuffling a bit where she kneeled. “What happens next, then?”

“Tell me why you came to me tonight. It’s been days—I was beginning to think you changed your mind.”

“Not at all. I’d thought to return the next night, but I wanted to be sure. You asked me a question.”

“I did.”

“I know my answer now. At least part of it,” she told him, waiting for his nod before continuing, “I want you to make me forget. The nobility, the balls—all of it. I feel like I can’t breathe some nights.”

“A distraction, then.” He hummed thoughtfully, a hand on his chin. “How do you suggest I distract you?”

“Isn’t that part up to you?”

“Not at all. This is a training partnership, Magda. I’m here to help you understand what it means to be submissive—to teach you to let go. I intend to do so using the methods you tell me you wish to explore.”

“I see,” she muttered, frowning a little. “I think I’d be open to trying most things.”

“You say that because you don’t yet understand how many possibilities there are. There are things _I_ wouldn’t even be willing to try,” Black Glove revealed, much to her surprise. “Hosta mentioned you seemed interested in bondage. Is this true?”

“You talked about me?”

“I tend to make inquiries when it comes to potential partners. Surely it’s not so surprising.”

That he asked was no surprise, it was more that Hosta had answered. “I can’t believe she told you about that…”

“She was trying to help you,” Black Glove assured her, reaching out to cup her cheeks before she could huff again. “You should be glad to have such good friends.”

His words effectively silenced her, and she knew in her heart he was right. It wasn’t as if Hosta would have told just anyone about what they shared—just Black Glove, the man who would be delving into this with her. If anything, Hosta had saved her the trouble of trying to figure out how to say she wanted to be tied up and teased until she couldn’t remember a thing about anything other than the person who had her bound.

“The look in your eyes…you’ll find I can make your dreams a reality, kitten, if you just share them with me.”

“I wouldn’t mind trying that,” Magda confirmed, quickly clarifying as he sent her a look, “bondage.”

“That’s where we’ll start, then. We’ll try something simple, and if it pleases you, we can work up to something more intricate. Once you’re comfortable, we’ll revisit this conversation,” he decided, and to her surprise, that seemed to be it. Part of her was relieved by how decisive he was—how quick and concise he had made this. Another part didn’t quite understand how that could possibly be all he had to say after they had been building up to this moment for so long. “Did you think we’d discuss every possible option and outcome in a single sitting?”

“Well, no, but—”

“I intend to take my time with you, kitten. This conversation is the first of many.”

She smiled at his quick reassurance, finding the relief far outweighed the concern she had felt moments before. “Okay.”

“There are some ground rules,” he warned, his expression hardening. It was only the fact that his touch was still tender that kept her from feeling antsy, leaning into it as his thumb stroked her cheek. “A training partnership is meant to be an exploration for the submissive—there are certain requirements that will be nonnegotiable though, if you wish to explore with me.”

“Such as?”

“I expect honesty at all times. If you don’t like something, you tell me. If you _do,_ I expect you to tell me as well. The only way for us to progress is if you’re open with me. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, _master._ After tonight, that’s what you’ll call me when we’re taking on these roles,” Black Glove told her, giving her an expectant look.

She swallowed hard. “Yes, master.”

He nodded in approval. “Very good, pet. Any time you step foot into one of my establishments or residences, I’ll consider you in role even if we aren’t actively playing. The main level of the Tavern will be the only exception—you’re free to treat me as you normally would.”

“Yes, master.”

“You’ll be expected to wear your training collar at all times, even when we aren’t together. Finsel’s ballrooms are no exception.”

“Training collar?” Magda asked, brows furrowed. She suspected she knew, of course, but it felt best to be certain.

“It will be waiting at your estate in the morning,” he told her shortly. “To your mother, it will be a simple necklace unbefitting a lady of your status. She may insist you discard it—use whatever excuse you must to decline.”

“My mother is very persistent.”

“I’ve never known you to back down from a challenge,” Black Glove responded with a grin. She couldn’t resist laughing softly at that, thinking to herself _that_ was an understatement. “Remember when you see it, a training collar isn’t meant to be intricate in design.”

A real collar would have to be earned, then. She nodded in understanding. “Yes, master.”

“I know you wish to keep things private for now, but it won’t go unnoticed once you wear it out on more than one occasion. It will send a clear sign to my patrons that you are an owned woman. My patrons will respect your privacy—that won't stop them from asking you directly, though."

And they’d know exactly what she was. They’d know that she was submissive. “Won’t they figure it out when I go with you to the club?”

“Not necessarily. I intend to respect your wishes—if you don’t want to play in front of others, we won’t. It’s a common occurrence for submissives to refer to me as sir or master in the club.”

Magda frowned at that. “They treat you like you’re their dominant?”

“They treat me like the club master because that’s what I am. Most are already in partnerships with another patron.”

“Do you…play with them?”

Black Glove stared down at her, bemused. “No, kitten. At most, I’ll help them understand a particular technique or method, but I consider that to be part of the job. I don’t mix work and play, remember?” _Oh._ She nodded at that, another wave of relief washing over her. “I don’t like sharing either. I expect you to treat all my patrons with respect whether they’re dominant or submissive, but I will be the only one you refer to as your master. Do you understand?”

“Yes, master.”

“I intend to break you in elsewhere to start,” Black Glove admitted, studying her closely. “Somewhere you can relax without fear of being seen. We can build up to your first club appearance.”

“I’d like that,” she agreed easily, though her mind was reeling at the idea of being _broken in._ She already knew what he meant—that they’d dabble in a few light things and build up to something more until she felt ready to go to the club. It still sounded so deliciously _improper._ “When will we start?”

“That will be for you to decide. Not tonight, though,” he told her with a wink.

She was sure she was blushing, and then it occurred to her, “I can’t go home like this.” She gestured down at herself, growing more flustered by the second. They’d just had an entire conversation about bondage, submission, and _rules_ while she was in a nightgown of all things. “I’ll need to change—”

“I’ve already made arrangements for you to return home in the morning. You’ll stay here tonight,” he told her, seemingly unphased by her flabbergasted expression. “I’m a man with many connections, kitten. Convincing your maid to claim you’ve overslept is a trivial matter.”

“I’ve never lain with a man before.”

Black Glove chuckled softly. “I suspected as much. I assure you, your purity will not be taken from you this evening.”

“There’s only one bed.”

“I’m aware.”

“What exactly are you proposing, then?”

“Do you trust me, Magda?”

Magda blinked, the question a bit random. It was surprisingly simple to answer. “Of course.”

“Then trust me not to push you to do more than you’re ready for. We haven’t discussed the possibility of exploring the sexual side of your submission, or if that’s even something you want.”

“Would you be willing?” Magda wondered, remembering what Miss Hosta had told her—that playing didn’t have to mean anything sexual for either partner. She also remembered the nights she spent awake in her bed afterward, discovering with a start that it _would_ be sexual for her. “If it were something I wanted, would you…do that?”

“You’re a beautiful woman, Magda. I think you’ll find most dominants would be more than willing to give you all you ask for out of a partnership.”

“I’m not concerned with what most dominants would be willing to do, I’m concerned with _you.”_

“The prospect has been on my mind since you dropped to your knees,” he admitted, his voice as calm as if they were discussing the weather even as his words drew out a sharp gasp from her lips. This really was easy for him—so simple. It was almost unfair how casual he was being. “For now, I think we should focus on simpler matters. Sleeping arrangements, for example.”

“It would be simpler for me to go home.”

Black Glove sighed. “I won’t stop you if that’s what you wish, but it’s not the simpler option. The hour is late, and your entry didn’t go unnoted this evening. You were wearing a ballgown, kitten. Leaving now will only draw more attention to the fact you were here.”

“What do you suggest, then?”

“By morning, the Tavern will be empty. I can have a fresh set of clothes—something discreet to sneak you out in. As I said before, your maids will claim you simply overslept. No one will know you spent the night here.”

She stared up at him for a long moment, holding his fiery gaze. There was no demand there—no doubt he meant it when he said it would be her choice. Staying didn’t sound like such a bad idea, knowing that he would respect her the way he always did. That didn’t mean nothing would change though. By morning, things would never quite be the same between them, whether she stayed or not.

 _After tonight,_ he had told her, his rules very clear. When they woke up, he would truly be her master.


	11. Chapter 11

As it turned out, sharing a bed with a man didn’t automatically mean anything improper had to happen.

Black Glove hadn’t so much as touched her all night long. In fact, he hadn’t even undressed, choosing to lie there in his slacks and shirt as if he knew anything less might make her uncomfortable with their situation. Instead he had humored her the way he always did, chatting away as they laid there until the day’s exhaustion finally caught up with her again. By the time she woke up in the morning, she felt more rested than she had in _years._

The same way he had watched over her as she dozed off, she watched over him in the morning, finding she had never seen him looking quite so serene. Black Glove was a man of many masks—the serious businessman. The pompous gambler. The kind friend. She had even caught sight of the indulgent dominant, though she suspected that particular mask had many shades she had yet to see.

This was the first time she had seen him without a mask at all.

He was handsome, certainly. She envied the way he did everything so effortlessly, from the way he flipped his cards to the way he handled people. Did he put in the same amount of effort she did into making it appear so easy? Something told her it wasn’t quite the same—that while he likely put on a show at times, it came to him a bit easier.

His eyes fluttered open before long, shuffling upward so that he could look at her properly. To her surprise, she felt no compulsion to look away despite the nerves swirling in her stomach. He was her master now.

“Did you sleep well, pet?”

“Yes, master.”

“Are you hungry?”

“A little,” she admitted, quickly adding, “master.”

“There’s a bathroom through that door,” he told her, gesturing to an area of the room she hadn’t explored yet. “You’re free to freshen up. Anything I own is yours now.”

Magda frowned at that, not quite sure she understood that part. Wasn’t _she_ his now?

“I expect you to ask when you have a question,” Black Glove told her, slinging his long legs over the side of the bed without ever taking his eyes off her. “What’s on your mind?”

“If I’m yours now, how can I own anything, master?”

“You’re my pet, not my property. You’ll want for nothing so long as you’re mine.”

“Do I have to call you master at the end of every sentence?”

Black Glove chuckled at that. “Only when I ask you a question. Aside from that, you can call me master whenever you see fit. Just know that it pleases me when you do.”

Magda breathed a sigh of relief at that, finding it a bit awkward to keep saying every single exchange they shared. She wanted to please him, of course, but it was too unsettling right now. Maybe it would become normal in time, but right now the word still made her jolt every time she spoke it.

“Take your time here,” he told her, rising to his feet and adjusting the buttons on his now rumpled shirt. It was cute somehow, seeing him looking anything less than crisp. “Freshen up and then meet me in the next room when you’re ready. I expect you to kneel in the same position as last night. Do you understand?”

“Yes, master.”

He gave her a bemused smile before tearing his gaze away, leaving her alone in the quaint bedroom to think about all that had happened. It wasn’t as terrifying as she would have thought, being his pet. Would this be how they interacted from now on? She didn’t mind the idea, feeling oddly relaxed by the whole situation.

She got out of the bed after a few minutes, moving toward the bathroom and wasting little time to panic as she saw her face. Her makeup…Her mother would surely scold her if she knew that she had forgotten to remove her makeup before bed. It was smeared and unbecoming, and _this_ was how she had started her partnership with Black Glove. He must think her a mess.

_Anything I own is yours now._

She turned on the water, reaching for the first soap she could find before realizing there were several unopened packaged on the sink. Female beauty products, some imported from Mandoria. None of them appeared to be open.

When had he gotten these?

She smiled as she opened the face soap, its scent light and rosy. It was almost as soothing as knowing he had done all this for her, and with it she washed away her make up and her worries. She took her time dabbling into a few of the other products, mostly out of curiosity.

There were lotions. Shampoos and body washes. A bath sounded nice, though she suspected there wasn’t enough time for that. Black Glove might not mind, but the longer she took, the longer it would be before she was home. It would only be more difficult for her maid to explain to her mother if she dragged this out too long.

Instead she freshened up at the sink, sticking to the basics before tackling her hair. It was a mess, but there was little that couldn’t be undone with an enchanted comb. The knots were gone with very little effort, and soon it was framing her face in its typical, plain fashion the way it always did when she wasn’t dressing up for some ball or event.

Eventually she was satisfied that she didn’t look or smell anything less than pleasant, exiting the bathroom and blinking in surprise as she spotted a stet of folded clothing on the bed. A simple outfit—a light pink dress that went below her knees, and a matching top to cover a white undershirt. Nothing a noble would wear, but certainly something _she_ would.

She changed quickly, folding the nightgown and leaving it on the bed when she realized she had no idea where to put it. A few deep breaths later and she left the bedroom entirely, the smell of food in the air reminding her that she was indeed a bit hungry still.

Black Glove didn’t so much as glance in her direction as he cooked, maneuvering around the tiny kitchen like this was something he often did. She watched for just a minute before remembering what it was she was supposed to do next.

Kneeling. For some reason her nerves came back in waves as she moved toward the little kneeling pillow again, but as she looked to Black Glove for confirmation, he simply carried on without any acknowledgement.

This was something she needed to do on her own, it seemed.

She dropped down carefully, pulling on her skirt so that it wouldn’t bunch up awkwardly as her knees hit the pillow. And then she just…sat there. Part of her expected Black Glove to say something once she had obeyed his order from before, but he kept cooking like nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. Several minutes passed, and it began to sink in that it didn’t matter how many glances she stole in his direction.

He would get to her when he was done.

All she had to do now was wait, and the realization was oddly liberating. She let her hands rest comfortably on her lap, growing more and more relaxed by the minute. She closed her eyes, her head hung slightly—this was definitely something she could get used to doing.

When the noises from the kitchen stopped, her heart did as well, suddenly second guessing her newfound calm.

“You’ve nothing to be nervous about, kitten,” he told her, the sound of his shoes on the wood the only indication that something was happening—that he was approaching her, finally. She kept her gaze fixed on her hands, eyes widening as he drew nearer. “You truly are a lovely sight like this.”

It was then that she looked up at him, his dark gaze on hers as he loomed over her. If anything, he was the one who made a lovely sight looming over her like this with that piercing look on his face…

“Did you find everything you needed?”

“Yes, master. Thank you.”

He smiled down at her before taking his seat, and it was then that she noticed the plate in his hands. “I don’t typically feed my pets,” he admitted, lifting the fork and gathering up some of the food—eggs, she assumed by the smell. “It seems a different approach may be necessary with you.”

“What do you mean, master?”

“You’re too focused on me. I need you to understand I’m here to take care of you—that it’s the moments when you let go and let me that will make us both happiest.”

Magda stared up at him, uncertain _how_ to do that until he extended the fork to her and gave her a meaningful look. She raised her hand to take it from him, only for him to raise it out of her reach.

“Keep your hands in your lap,” Black Glove told her, his tone causing all the hairs on her arm to stand up. “Pretend they’re tied if you must. You’ve no need for them right now.”

“But…” _Oh._ Magda opened her mouth as she understood, allowing him to slide the fork into her mouth. She closed her lips around it, feeling incredibly awkward as he watched her chew. It was delicious—homelier than the meals she was used to her staff at the estate prepare. There was something special about it, knowing Black Glove had taken the time to prepare it himself. “Thank you, master.”

“Such a polite pet,” he mused, giving her another bite. “We’ll see if you’re still thanking me tonight.”

“What happens tonight?”

Another couple bites later, he finally answered, “We’re going to play, kitten.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter is somehow 3x as long as most of the others because I couldn't find a good stopping point. Oops. It's the first chapter where Magda gets eased into playing, so don't expect anything extreme. I'm really nervous about posting this one and it's basically just them dabbling into it haha...idk how I'll feel when it's time to post the smutty chapters.
> 
> Just a warning - there are probably plenty of inaccuracies in this fic when it comes to the BDSM scene. I don't claim to be an expert so I apologize if I get something wrong.

It wasn’t until Magda returned home from the Tavern that she really felt the difference. The training collar he had promised was there waiting for her, and Black Glove had gone so far as to fasten it for her before bidding his farewell. Never had she felt quite so _certain_ this was what she wanted until that moment, staring up at him as he put it on her, like all the piecing were falling into place under his piercing stare.

This was her life. This was what she wanted to be, she realized, more and more confident in her decision even as he left to attend to some business. The weight of the collar on her neck was a pressing reminder all day of all the things that had changed for her despite so much remaining the same.

The day carried on much the way it normally would, with her entertaining several guests who were hoping to discover some sort of intel. There was always someone—always _something_ required of her. Eventually the evening descended, and she found herself ready for yet another ball.

As predicted, her mother was _not_ pleased by her insistence to wear the collar. It was a simple black piece, taut on her neck like a choker. She had to insist it was the latest trend, inspired by some princess in the Lionheart Kingdom.

Her strange fashion choice drew the eyes of many, though no one questioned her. It was only her first night out after all, and she knew it would take at least one more before she caused a stir among the patrons of Black Glove’s club. Only Juven seemed to understand its true meaning, approaching her with a sigh.

“I see he wasted no time collaring you.”

“You say it as if there aren’t at least six others in this room wearing a collar,” Magda reminded him, not to mention the dominants who were not-so-discreetly carrying toys in the name of ‘fashion’. It was a bit trickier to distinguish them all, as canes were commonplace in Finsel, but quite a few were obvious now that she knew more.

The whip that hung on Shatina’s waist. The crop that Lou sometimes carried. There were countless others, carrying all sorts of familiar items that she never would have thought twice about several months back. Not all of the nobles she suspected of being submissives wore a collar either, some revealing themselves through a variety of other manners—sometimes in the way they interacted with the men and women who were clearly dominant, and sometimes in a far more discreet manner.

It was exciting in a way, being _in_ on all of this. The secret club she had yearned to infiltrate for so long before she knew what it was really all about.

“Did you discuss the timeframe when you went over your terms?” Juven wondered, giving her a look as she shrugged. “Eyas. Surely you know it’s not indefinite.”

“I know! That doesn’t mean I need to plan on it ending so soon. We’ve barely begun.”

“I don’t know what he hopes to gain by partnering with you. Maybe it’s just that you’re a rare flower among the other nobles interested in his club,” her friend mused, extending a hand to her in clear invitation. She accepted even as she thought to roll her eyes, letting her friend pull her into a dance. “He can be a cruel man, Eyas. I’ve seen him bring countless submissives to tears.”

“What do you mean?” Magda asked, because surely that wasn’t right.

“It’s well known that he doesn’t partner with any of his patrons, but that never stops men and women alike from trying to gain his favor,” Juven explained dismally. “He turns them all down. Coldly, too.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s a cruel man. He doesn’t like to mix work and play.”

“What are you to him if not work, then? He allowed you to join, did he not?”

“He waved my fee.”

Juven’s eyes widened in surprise. “That doesn’t mean you aren’t a member.”

“I suppose not. He said I’d train with him privately first, before we went to the club.”

“Just be careful with this game you’re playing. I’ve done business with him outside the club—he’s not a patient man. He takes what he wants and makes no apology for it.”

“That doesn’t sound like him,” she insisted.

“I’ve seen it firsthand. He’s destroyed many businesses in the process of expanding his own—then he moves onto the next when he’s done. I don’t want you to become just another territory he claims before moving onto another.”

As she spun in his arms, she couldn’t help shaking it all off. The man he spoke of just wasn’t the same Black Glove she knew. She believed he was a calculating business man, of course—she’d seen the way people flocked to him, hoping to garner favor. She’d witnessed countless men tremble under his gaze when he was displeased, and countless more scurry off when he waved a dismissive hand.

That didn’t mean he would do such a thing to her. He had countless opportunities to run her off if that was what he wanted to do, yet he always welcomed her back instead. Maybe he _was_ holding something back…He always did have a card up his sleeve, she was sure. That didn’t mean he would do her any harm with it though.

“I’ll be fine. I’m an Ellenstein, remember?”

Juven snorted at that. “As if I could forget.”

Her mother had taught her well, and despite the lectures and scoldings over the years, she knew she was a stronger woman for it. It would take a lot more than one man to truly break her—in the sense of the word Juven was referring to, anyway.

Her friend seemed to get the hint, dropping the subject after that. She danced with countless others before finding an excuse to leave just a little earlier than usual, eager to see how the rest of the night would go. A carriage was waiting outside in the exact location Black Glove had described, and a familiar coachman waiting outside of it.

“Lady Ellenstein,” he bowed to her, offering her a hand to get inside.

She accepted quickly, making sure no one was watching before they were on their way. Tonight she was going to Black Glove’s estate where they would play for the first time, remembering his words like a whisper in her ear throughout the night. Her social obligations truly felt like a burden, keeping her away from far more enticing matters.

_“Do you want to be tied up, pet?”_

_“Yes, master.”_

They’d negotiated what that would entail in great detail at his insistence, explaining that he didn’t want to surprise her during her first scene. It would be a simple start to her journey as a submissive. Just a taste of what was to come if she enjoyed herself. If she did not, they would discuss it further and see if there was something else she would prefer to try.

Considering his very words had left her trembling, she was fairly certain tonight would be more than enjoyable.

The carriage brought her to one of the nicer areas of Finsel, not far from where each of the Four Families maintained their estates. A far contrast from the quaint room above his Tavern, she thought, not entirely surprised. It fit what everyone else had told her about him—that he was a powerful man. A wealthy man. To think he had started out as just another kid in the slums, tricking and trading his way to the top.

When they arrived, she accepted the coachman’s hand and made her way to the door where she was greeted by a maid.

“We’ve been expecting you, Miss,” she said, graciously taking Magda’s coat. “The master is waiting for you upstairs. I’ll show you to the changing room.”

Magda blinked a few times but followed the maid, wondering exactly how much this lady knew about her ‘master’. The use of the title bothered Magda more than it should have, especially when she knew _all_ maids referred to the master of the house as such.

Jealousy wasn’t a rational emotion, she knew, which was probably why her mother had warned her for many years that a real lady never displayed it.

“Thank you, Miss,” Magda said with a forced smile, following the maid up an intricate staircase.

“You’re free to use this room however you see fit. You’ll find its equipped with everything you may need,” the maid told her, gesturing toward a door where they had stopped. “The master will meet you in his chambers shortly.”

Her face was bright red as the maid gestured a lone door on the far end of the hall, like it was of no consequence that Magda would be in his bedchamber.

“If you need anything else, please ask the master. I’ve been given leave for the rest of the evening.”

“Enjoy your evening,” Magda responded politely, cringing a bit when the maid echoed the same thing back to her with a coy smile.

She definitely knew—or at least, she assumed she knew. How often did Black Glove bring women to his estate like this?

It was unsettling, leaving Magda to retreat into the room she had apparently been given permission to use during her visits. He had mentioned as much, that she would have a space to unwind in should she need it. A bedroom, for all intents and purposes, filled with clothing and accessories befitting a lady of her standing in Finsel.

She’d thought it was a bit silly at the time, but now she understood. They hadn’t even begun, and she was already filled with silly thoughts and concerns. All due to other people, too—the maid, Juven…Things would be just fine if everyone else were removed from the situation.

All she needed to do was let go. Focus on _him_ and no one else.

Magda made slow work of her ballgown, removing it far more carefully than the last one that had been all but destroyed when she ran to see him. This time she was going to do things right. He had been very clear about what would happen tonight—what she should do, and what he would do in return. Apparently there would be more room for spontaneity later, when he felt comfortable that he knew her wants and needs. Right now it was a bit of trial and error, as _she_ didn’t even know with certainty what she would like.

She knew what she wanted to try. What made her eyes light up, that she suspected would feel right.

_“It’s different when you’re actually bound,”_ Black Glove had warned her—that often people who thought they would like it ended up hyperventilating, panicked by the lack of control. Especially if they jumped in too deep from day one.

What she wore had been left to her this time, though he had suggested something minimal for her to get the full experience.

It was a bit nerve-wracking, but she had known all night what she would choose to wear. Underneath her ballgown, she had opted out of wearing her usual bloomers—instead she had selected something a bit less modest. Lace panties and a matching lingerie top. They weren’t nearly as intricate as anything Helena owned, but between the lingerie and her collar, she had never felt quite so alive at one of Finsel’s balls. It was like she had her very own secret, which was a rarity in itself in a land where gossip and rumors ran rampant.

Exhaling a deep breath, Magda rose to her feet and exited ‘her’ room. It was a good thing the maid had left, actually, or it would have been incredibly uncomfortable walking through an estate she had never visited before dressed only in her undergarments. She hurried along despite herself, Goddess forbid the maid had to come back because she had forgotten something.

She didn’t let out a breath of relief until she entered the bedroom, anxiety swirling inside her still. This was _it._ He could come in any moment, and when he did—her heart stopped as she remembered where he expected her to be.

_“On your knees on the left side of the door, facing the wall.”_

What would happen if she was not, she had no idea, but his words had caused a shudder then and another now as she recalled them. Part of her wanted to poke around a bit first, but the look in his eyes had warned her against it. They were just easing into this…she didn’t want to ruin it by breaking the rules so soon.

Would he punish her so soon into their partnership?

Best not to find out, she decided, settling down onto the floor in a hurry. There was no pillow this time, just the cold hard floor below her.

Her heart rate accelerated in waves as she waited, calming down as she reminded herself it was fine and then speeding up again as she wondered what was taking so long. The minutes seemed to drag and drag, and he still hadn’t walked in. She could have looked around the whole room by now, or at the very least into the large chest at the foot of his bed. It had caught her eye the moment she stepped in, and she suspected she knew exactly what he kept in there.

Another few minutes dragged by, and the tension began to bleed from her permanently. There was no point in letting her mind race—in wondering what was elsewhere in the room. She was here for a reason, and would undoubtedly get what she came for if she just waited.

And waited, and waited.

The door finally opened, and she didn’t even jump. Instead she just sat there, head bowed just like he told her and hands in her lap. It felt like every hair on her body was standing up as he stepped inside, fully aware of his presence even as he didn’t acknowledge her once. Her heart began to race at least twice as quickly as he moved, wondering what he must be thinking, seeing her like this. He made no comment on her appearance though, the silence dragging on.

Was he pleased with her, sitting exactly as they discussed?

He had walked right by her without giving her a hint of his thoughts, each step slow and deliberate somehow. Every instinct in her body told her to stay exactly as she was, but there was this nagging voice as well— _daring_ her to turn her head and look at him. By now he would be near the bed, if she had gauged his movements correctly.

That was where he was going to bring her.

She could hear sounds—indistinct noises which she knew could only mean one thing. They had discussed specifically what they would be doing today, and so she knew he was preparing. The shuffling was the sound of rope being tied to the corner posts of his tall bed frame where he would bind her. The instruments he would use on her body were being spread on the mattress, right where she would be able to see them and choose what she wanted for their first day's experiment.

This was all about introducing her to the basics in a way she didn’t get to experience with Hosta and Helena, one step at a time.

She swallowed hard as she thought about all the things they had discussed. The tools he would be using on her body as they did all this. Knowing was supposed to make this all easier for her, yet somehow as she sat there with her head down and listened to him preparing, she was certain that knowing was only making her more anxious. The minutes seemed to blend together, but even as she shuffled a bit in her position, he showed no signs of speeding up his process.

Couldn’t he see she was ready?

Just when she was wondering if she had done something wrong, if she had misunderstood his instructions and ended up in the wrong spot, she heard his foot steps drawing near. Her heart pounded in her chest as his shadow loomed over her, and she was sure she wasn’t imagining the electricity in the air as he finally stood behind her.

“Do you still want to do this, pet?”

His dark words sent a shudder down her spine, and it took all her self-control not to spin around and look up at him so that he could see the sincerity in her eyes as she answered, “Yes, master.”

She gasped as she felt his hand on her scalp, combing through her hair with his fingers. “Do you remember everything we discussed?”

Magda had to bite back the immediate _yes,_ instead allowing herself a deep breath as he continued to comb through her hair in the most soothing way. “Yes, master.”

“One word. That’s all it will take, and we’ll stop.”

Right. They had agreed on a simple safe word to start—red, like the color. A simple word to get him to stop at any time. Yellow would mean he would give her a moment, and green would mean he was free to continue.

Before she could think too much about that, his hand fisted in her hand just firmly enough to tug her head back. It didn’t hurt, but she gasped anyway, startled by the sudden flip in behavior. She stared up at him, eyes wide as stared right back down with a quirked brow.

“What are your safe words, pet?”

“Red, yellow, and green.”

“Very good,” he purred, releasing her hair entirely. She continued to stare up at him, not sure if she was supposed to straighten out or not. “Do you remember our agreement?”

“Yes, master.”

For now, he had also been very clear that any ‘no’, ‘wait’, or ‘stop’ would also be respected while she was still getting used to all of this. Typically those words weren’t reliable safe words, as they tended to be thrown around easily in the heat of the moment even when stopping was the last thing the submissive truly wanted, but she took comfort in the fact that he was giving her time to get used to all this. Once he knew her better, and once she felt more comfortable, they would narrow it down to her true safe words.

Considering she was already trembling where she sat, it was easy to imagine this becoming overwhelming at an alarming rate. It wasn't so crazy to imagine forgetting her safe words while she was in such a state, whereas _no_ or _wait_ were innate responses.

It was only as he raised his other hand that she realized he was holding something in it—something she recognized from their talk. A leash. His eyes were locked on hers as he let it hang above her head, like he was giving her a moment to say one of those words—to change her mind about all this.

She didn’t.

A moment later he was clasping it to her collar, giving it a gentle tug just so she knew it was there. “On your feet, pet.”

He didn’t have to ask twice. She clambered to her feet, somehow growing steadier as he pulled the leash taut and spun her around to face him. His eyes flickered up and down her exposed body, but his face gave nothing away as to what he might be thinking.

“Tell me what we’ll be doing tonight.”

“You’re going to tie me to the bed frame,” she said, wishing very much that she could look over and see what he had been setting up there—his eyes left no room for her to look away though, commanding her full attention. “Then you’ll introduce me to your toys.”

“Do you have any questions about the rules, pet?”

“No, master.”

He looked at her for a long minute like he was giving her time to think of anything that hadn’t been mentioned—anything that she was having doubts about. There was nothing though. At the time, her face had been furiously red as he talked her through what he intended to do to her tonight, but now she was grateful for it. Whether or not she would like everything was up in the air, but she knew very clearly what would be happening and what he expected of her.

When it was clear she wouldn’t change her mind, he tugged at her leash just enough for her to know it was there, guiding her over to the foot of the bed. He looped the handle of the leash over the top of the elegant frame, the movement very deliberate. She wasn’t bound—if she took two steps back, the leash would unloop and fall with her movement. It felt very symbolic though, like this was her last chance to turn and walk away of her own accord.

His hands were on her shoulders when she didn’t budge, ghosting over her skin like she were delicate.

“Arms up,” he commanded, his warm breath tickling her neck.

She shuddered as she obeyed, spreading her arms wide like a bird. His hands trailed down her right arm before he pulled at the rope hanging on that side of his bed frame, circling it around her wrist in a simple knot. It was just tight enough where she could feel the slight prickle of the bristles. There were goosebumps on her skin as he hand trailed back up that arm, moving with purpose over to her other lifted arm. Once that wrist was bound as well, she heard him take a step back, suddenly wishing they had agreed for her to face the other direction.

Instead all she could see was the bed, each of his instruments laid out as he stood behind her.

“There’s no need to be nervous.” That didn’t stop her heart from pounding in her chest as he stood behind her, looking over her backside and thinking who knew _what_ about her underthings. “Shall we begin?”

“Please,” she whispered, the word more ragged than intended as she looked over everything laid out in front of her.

“What’s caught your eye, pet?”

From the paddle to the riding crop, there was an assortment of devices that were taunting her, each familiar from her talks and lessons with Miss Hosta. There was even a _knife,_ which was probably the most alarming item of them all.

One item in particular stood out from the rest, and she knew that was where she wanted this all to begin.

“The flogger.”

Black Glove didn’t say a word at that, instead staying exactly where he was for a long moment before rounding the side of the bed. She watched him curiously as he lifted the device she had named, running a hand over it as his eyes flickered up to meet hers.

“A good choice,” he told her slowly, pointing it toward her. Her eyes studied it carefully as it was held in front of her, knowing that was his intention. “You look lovely like this, tied up and ready for me. I can see the want in your eyes.”

She gasped as he ran the soft end of the flogger over her collar bone, trailing down and down until it was between her breasts.

“Did you wear this under your ball gown tonight?”

Magda gulped, “Yes, master.”

He raised a brow, not ceasing with his movements for even a moment as he trailed it down over her stomach. It tickled, which was strange given the fact she was told it would be more like a dull pain when used in this setting.

“Who did you dance with?” he wondered, retracting the device entirely. He circled back behind her as she thought over his question, not quite sure where to begin. “The Viscount, I assume?”

“Yes, master,” she confirmed, startling as he brought it down lightly on her shoulder blade.

He trailed it down her back, like he was weaving a paint brush and her body was his masterpiece. “Who else?”

“I danced with many men and women.”

“Name them,” he commanded, startling another gasp as he brought the tip down on her buttocks this time.

It didn’t hurt, she thought, the sound and sudden movement more surprising than the sensation. It _did_ make it very difficult to think though, wondering exactly when he might bring it down on her again as she tried to remember what it was he had asked her.

“Duke Olineaux,” she started, gasping again as he brought it down on her other cheek.

“And?”

“Gonzalo,” she continued, trembling as he just ran it over her skin this time, “Lou. Mr. Barris.” She cried out as he brought it down again, the sting of it leaving the most addicting throb on her buttocks.

“Who else?” Black Glove demanded, his voice a whisper as he continued to toy with her.

“Alminas,” Magda responded, bracing herself for another blow—nothing came, of course, like he knew she would be expecting it this time. “Shatina. Carlos.”

This time he brought it down on her other shoulder blade, giving her a wordless cue to continue. She obeyed it without question, rattling off more than a few names. Some were common in Finsel’s balls, while others were not. Mostly, she danced with any who asked, as was her duty in such a setting.

“Who else?”

“I can’t…” _Remember._ She couldn’t remember who else, though she was certain it was more than the list she had provided. “I’m sorry, master.”

To her surprise, she felt his lips brush over her shoulder this time, a silent assurance that it was quite alright. She rolled her head back without thinking, sighing in relief as he kissed her neck.

“Were you thinking of me?” His breath was hot on her neck, the flogger in his hand pressed to her back as he stood dangerously close.

“Yes…All night,” she admitted, her face flushed as he chuckled against her skin.

“What would your noble friends think if they saw you like this—tied up and panting over a commoner?” Black Glove tsked, stepping back and taking all his warmth with him. He ran it over her back again until she was shuddering, the constant sensation too much. “I have a confession, pet.” He brought it down on her buttocks again, gently this time. “I was thinking of you as well. It was a miracle I got any work done at all.”

His words brought a slight smile to her face, and there was no containing it. “I didn’t mean to distract you, master.”

“I think you did—coming here, dressed like this,” he told her, and she could _feel_ his eyes roaming over her body, taking in every inch as he trailed the flogger over her skin. “What would your noble friends think, if they knew you were dressed like this under you pretty little gown?”

“They didn’t know.”

“No? What happens next time, when my patrons recognize your collar for what it is?” Black Glove wondered, bringing the crop to her neck. He ran it just above the material of her collar, the touch oddly delicate for something that could bring her pain. “When their hands circle your waist, do you think they won’t realize you aren’t wearing traditional bloomers?”

“They won’t know,” she was certain, too aware of the many layers she wore to the balls.

“And me? When I attend your balls and insist on a dance?”

_“Please,”_ she responded, not even sure what it was she was asking for this time. Her back arched where she stood, pulling on the binds for the first time since he had tied her wrists. It was useless, of course. “Please, master.”

“Please what, pet?” Black Glove asked in return, letting the tip of the flogger fall lower this time until it was tickling the back side of her thighs. “Use your words.”

“I need more.”

He continued his exploration, the leather tip running over the back of her knee before running back up to her pert bottom. “More what?”

“I…I don’t know,” Magda admitted, the words more of a whine than anything else.

There were too many things happening—she couldn’t sort them out. All she knew was that it wasn’t _enough._ She squirmed where she stood, and it was like her skin _itched_ to be touched by him. That faint tickle of leather wasn’t enough, dragging across her body so slowly.

“Such a shame,” he tsked, running it over her back once more. “If you can’t speak it, I can’t give it to you.”

Instead he continued, this time allowing it to ghost across the back of her neck—up and down her arms, in the most fragile way before being brought down on just above her shoulder blades again. It seemed to be the sweet spot, one of the many safe zones he had described when he indicated where was apt to strike during their sessions. Something covered by muscle or fat, where he wouldn’t risk harming her in any significant way.

By the time his insistent exploration slowed, she was panting again, squirming on her tip toes as he brought down several consecutive strikes.

“Ah,” she cried out, tears welling in her eyes.

He couldn’t see them, of course, but he seemed to _know._ “What’s your color, pet?”

“Green,” she breathed, stunned at how true it was. Even the thud of the leather on her skin couldn’t deter her, not when it felt this good to let go. “Please, master.”

He brought the flogger back down to her thighs, and she realized with a start that she was wet with want _._ It seemed like he was deliberately avoiding any touch that was too near where she craved it, instead exploring every other inch of her back side. From her ankles to her wrists, he had her spread and open for him, but he was so careful not to go too near her core even as he brought the leather up the back side of her legs.

Goddess what she wouldn’t give for him to press the flogger between her legs, if only for a moment. Just enough to give her some friction as she stood there, the arousal hitting her in waves as he continued his relentless exploration. Every tickle left her skin feeling electric, and every tap sent a full on shock wave through her until she was _aching_. None of his touches had even been overtly sexual, and yet here she stood, lost to every single sensation as a newfound desire took her. 

Unfortunately, her core seemed to be the only place he didn't intend to explore this evening, even as she cried out and asked for more.

His careful exploration seemed to go on for hours despite it all, his strikes startling her back to the present each time they came down with precision. Who knew one flogger could cause so many different feelings, all by just changing the speed of the movement or strike? And he hadn't even brought it down hard this first night, instead giving her time to adapt to the idea of pain. There would only be more to come if she chose to continue after tonight.

“You did well, pet,” Black Glove praised, finally stepping in close behind her and tossing the flogger onto the mattress. His hands circled her waist, and she arched back toward him in an attempt to soak in even more of his warmth. “Shh. It’s okay.”

It wasn’t okay—not when he was arching away when all she wanted was to be pulled into his arms. His fingers trailed up as she whimpered, exploring her skin as he kept going up and up until they were on her arms. The rope was undone before she realized what he was doing, and it was only then that he swept her fully into his arms.

“Shh,” he whispered again, right into her ear as he lifted her bridal style and carried her to the side of the mattress not covered in toys. He laid her down there, smiling indulgently as she stared up at him in awe. “How do you feel?”

“Green.”

“Not your color, pet. How do you _feel?”_

She couldn’t quite answer that one so easily, holding his gaze as he stood by the bedside and ran strong fingers through her scalp in the most relaxing way. “Relaxed,” she answered finally, letting out a comfortable sigh.

“That’s good,” Black Glove told her, retracting his hand even as she made a noise of protest. “I need to put away our toys.”

_Our_ toys. She looked over at that side of the bed as she remembered, a shudder tearing through her body at his declaration that they weren’t just _his._ Every part of her wanted him to just climb in bed with her and hold her, but she vaguely understood he needed do this first—that he knew what was best in this situation.

He seemed to move around the bed slowly, like he was in no particular rush as she laid there and watched him gather every object on the bed and put it back in his toy box—a massive chest nearby. It was only then that she noticed the bulge in his trousers, and he didn’t even pretend not to notice her staring as their eyes met again. He just winked, confident as ever as he made no attempt to conceal it.

“As I told you before,” he shrugged, sliding onto the mattress and scooting closer to her, “You’re a beautiful woman.”

Her face was red at his earnest compliment, especially seeing the evidence that he truly meant it. This man—this handsome, powerful man, was attracted to her. Did he know that she was just as attracted to him? That his every touch had left her wanting more and more?

“How are your arms?” Black Glove asked, looking her over even as she frowned at the odd question. “You were bound for quite some time. Are your muscles sore?”

If they were, it hadn’t hit her yet, her entire body still fully relaxed as she laid there next to him.

That didn’t stop him from pampering her despite it all, kissing the inside of her wrists as he inspected them for any rope burn or signs of discomfort. It didn’t stop him from massaging her shoulders, his fingers working her expertly until he seemed to believe that she really was just fine. It didn’t stop him from getting her some water, every drop refreshing in a way she hadn’t even noticed she needed until he commanded her in that silky voice, _drink, pet._

By the time he was done, he was curling up behind her in bed, holding her closely in a way she hadn’t expected. It was so different from the night they spent together in the Tavern, and while there was still nothing inherently improper about it other than her lack of attire, she was somehow even _more_ relaxed this time around.

It was a feeling she could get used to, she decided, the soft smile on her face not fading even as she finally drifted to sleep.


End file.
